Intentional End
by poppyfoxcroft
Summary: This is the last of the Bobby and Gleason stories. Please read 'Rune Alignment,' 'Aligned Design' and 'Designed Intent' first to better understand this one. The LOCI characters belong to others I'm just grateful to be able to play with their toys. Enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

Intentional End

Chapter 1

August 18

Saturday Morning

The smells of fresh coffee and bacon made their way from the kitchen to Bobby's nose. He sniffed deeply and turned onto his side, reaching for her, but her side of the bed was empty. She's cooking, he thought with a smile and opened his eyes.

Bobby and Gleason had been married nearly a year and were the happiest they had been since they met eighteen months before. They had survived just about anything a couple could survive – a stalker, a shooting, a miscarriage, infidelity, depression, living apart, bouts of drinking, and the day-to-day misery that comes with being in love. Nevertheless, they survived it all and were stronger for it.

Bobby rolled out of bed, pulled on his flannel sleep pants, stopped in the bathroom, and then padded toward the kitchen. "Ah, you are about your wifely duties, are you?" he said, sneaking up behind her in his bare feet, taking her in his arms, nuzzling her neck.

"I am, sir; and if you will let me, I'll prepare the rest of your breakfast so that we might be about our last weekend together," she replied, leaning back against him, relishing in his breadth and warmth.

"Oh, don't say it out loud," he moaned, "I don't want this to end." Gleason and Bobby had lived together in the New York apartment since the end of the spring semester, late May. She taught neither of the two summer sessions, so the couple had taken their honeymoon the last week of July and first week of August, months after their autumn wedding.

Gleason turned and answered, "I don't want it to end either. I'm home until Wednesday and then you'll come to Evanston Friday evening and we'll have next weekend together." She looked at his bare chest and ran her fingers through the sparse silver curls sprinkled over it.

Bobby took her head in his hands and kissed her, his tongue licking gently at her lips. Gleason opened to him and her hand slid from his chest to his waistband, slipped inside and dipped for his penis. It responded to her touch and he moaned, spreading his legs, allowing himself to grow in her hand. "Jesus, Glea-," he whispered against her head.

Suddenly, she withdrew her hand and turned back to the cooker, "I need to get these eggs on, Love. Go get dressed."

"Turn them off and let's go lie down," he said softly, trying to turn her again.

"No, go get dressed; we have lots to do today. Go on, go."

"If you come with me now, we can shower together and save time."

"Bobby! Go get dressed, please!"

"Ok, don't get mad. Geez." Bobby stepped away and walked slowly toward the bedroom, his erection withering.

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Late Saturday Afternoon

"I'll be just a few minutes," Gleason told Bobby as she headed toward the bedroom.

"I'm going to run down to the car and get my phone."

Bobby left and Gleason stripped, dropping her clothes on the bed. This was going to be a wonderful evening – she and Bobby were going to a graduation party for the Captain's oldest daughter, Kathryn; Deakins and Angie had reserved the Palm Room at the Crown Plaza in Times Square.

The water sluiced over her skin as she lathered her body with the loofa full of cinnamon scented suds. Gleason felt incredibly sensuous and enjoyed grooming in the bath. She shaved her legs and washed her hair.

"Honey, how much should we put in the card?" Bobby asked from the bathroom door. The water stopped and the curtain moved aside, she looked like a water goddess.

"I didn't hear you, what did you say?" she said, reaching for the towel.

Bobby stared at her wet nakedness and felt the stir in his trousers, "Uh, the card, how much in the card?"

The towel moved slowly over her body and she watched his eyes follow it. A grin broke her face as she turned and bent away from him, rubbing her hair with the towel. Bobby stepped to her and ran his hand down over her bottom, his fingers sliding toward the space leading to her opening. "We are in a hurry, remember?" she said, turning to look at him over her shoulder, seeing the look of innocent lust on his face.

"Oh, Glea-," he breathed.

She straightened and wrapped the towel around her head. "Go put what you think is right in the card. I don't know about these things. Go." She shooed him from the bathroom and noticed the small tent in the front of his pants.

Gleason dusted her body with the spicy powder Bobby had gotten for her in Perthshire on their Scottish honeymoon. He had picked the scent and said it served as an aphrodisiac for him when combined with her cinnamon soap; he always did have an acute sense of smell.

A naughty thought made her smile as she turned the corner from the bathroom into the bedroom. As quickly as she opened the second drawer of her chest of drawers, she closed it, without removing a single item. Oh, she was feeling mischievous!

The new dress was perfect – three layers of thin, summer weight material flared from the waist where it met the two long fabric bands reaching from the full back and criss-crossing her just-enough breasts. The peachy-rose colour was perfect for her skin and hair. She slipped on the dress, tied the front, adjusting her breasts to fill it to their best advantage, then slid her feet into her new flat sandals and returned to the bathroom to do her hair.

"Ready?" she asked as she entered the living room, shaking out the length of creamy, light wool for her shoulders.

Bobby stood reading the paper, looking wonderful in his dark blue suit with the button-down collar dress shirt open at the neck. He looked up and his breath caught, "Gleason, you look wonderful." The newspaper fell onto his chair and he stepped to her, took her arms and bent to kiss her gently. "Oh, God, you smell so good," he groaned.

He pulled her close and she resisted him with a smile saying, "We're going to be late, let's go."

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The party was under way as Bobby and Gleason arrived. "Bobby, Gleason, thank you for coming," Angie said as she met them at the door to the huge room. "Kathryn … Kate! Come here please," she called and beckoned to her daughter, the lady of the hour.

"You remember Detective Goren and his wife, Dr. Wintermantle. This is our daughter, Kathryn."

The young woman shook each of their hands and thanked them for coming. Bobby handed her the card and she uttered another thanks. "Is it too late to congratulate you on your marriage?" Bobby and Gleason both smiled and returned the thanks. "I should go mingle. Thank you again for coming and for your gift." With that, she slipped back into the surprisingly large crowd.

"Come, come and get something to eat, something to drink. I'll find Jimmy – you can rescue him from his mother." She smiled and disappeared into the crowd as well.

Bobby took Gleason's hand and together they stepped into the mix. Bobby was tall enough to see over almost everyone's head. He spotted Eames and led Gleason that way, noticing that his partner was with that Detective Peter Something from the one-seven – the fellow who interprets for the deaf. Eames stood very close to this guy and Bobby hoped he was not her rebound from Sledge.

"Hey," she said and it was clear she had had more than several glasses of wine.

"Hi, Alex," Gleason said, smiling, looking from Bobby's partner to the short man beside her. When Alex didn't introduce them, Bobby did.

"Can I get you each a drink?" Peter asked after the formalities.

Alex replied first, "Actually, Peter, you can get me another one of these." He smiled at her and then smiled at the other two. A look passed from Bobby to Peter and Peter understood that her next drink was going to be club soda.

Bobby and Gleason declined Peter's offer but waited with Eames until he returned with the two innocent drinks.

"We'll catch up with you later," Bobby said and led Gleason away again.

They found seats at an empty table near the back and Gleason sat while Bobby went to get them each a drink. Gleason was excited to be here as she had had so few opportunities to attend events such as these. The reception upon her hiring at Northwestern had actually been the first one that she could remember; it may have been the first one ever. Then, the gathering with Bobby's co-workers the Friday evening following their wedding had been an informal, yet festive affair. And now this, she felt like a girl at prom.

"Thank you, Love," she said, taking the wine glass from Bobby. He sat beside her, leaned in whispered, "You are the loveliest woman here and you are mine." He inhaled her scent and felt himself stir.

The music started up and he said, "Let's dance. Come on." He took her hand, pulling her to her feet, and headed for the dance floor.

"Bobby, Bobby, wait!"

"What?" he asked as he took her in his arms. "What's wrong?"

"Bobby, I've, I, I don't know how to dance. Please, let's sit down." She tried to pull away but he held tight.

"It's easy; just follow me; I'll hold you close. Come on." And with that, he held her and she let him glide her over the floor. "There, this isn't so bad, is it?" he said smiling down at her.

She smiled up at him and said, "You are very good at this, Mr. Goren. Where did you learn to dance like this?"

"It was the only way I could get my hands on girls in high school. So, I watched the other kids and learned."

Gleason had never been happier.

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	2. Chapter 2

11

Intentional End

Chapter 2

August 18

Saturday Evening

"Bobby, Gleason, thanks for coming," Jimmy Deakins said, shaking Bobby's hand and giving Gleason a quick hug. "Did you get something to eat?"

"Not yet, we're heading that way soon, though."

"This is lovely, Captain Deakins. What is your daughter going to do now?" Gleason asked.

"Actually, she's off to St. Louis to work for the Justice Department. We're hoping she meets a nice, young, smart lawyer and settles down. Angie and I are looking for grandchildren."

Bobby and Gleason both smiled at Deakins' pride and pleasure in his eldest daughter.

"How was Scotland? We haven't really had a chance to talk about anything since you got back," Deakins asked.

"It was wonderful," Bobby replied, pulling Gleason close.

"I was happy to show Bobby my home," Gleason beamed. The couple had returned one week ago from spending two weeks traversing the Highlands and the Orkney Islands, with the bulk of the time in a remote cottage on North Ronaldsay. For ten days, Bobby and Gleason lived in a tiny, peat-heated cottage making love, walking the beaches, bird watching, and reading, sleeping and just being together. They grew together as one.

"When do you head back to Northwestern?" Deakins asked.

"I'll return Wednesday and Bobby will join me Friday evening for the weekend. Then we're back to our routine of every other weekend."

"I don't know how you two do it. I'm happy for you both, however. Listen, I see Deputy Commissioner DiEugenio over there and should go say hello," he nodded to each of them and walked away.

Bobby ran his hand up and down Gleason's arm and she snuggled close to him. "Bobby, I have to tell you something," she said, looking up at him.

He bent down and she whispered in his ear. "What?" he asked, looking at her with a furrowed brow, not sure he heard her right.

Gleason whispered again, his head shot up and he looked at her smiling face, "Are you serious?"

She nodded and beamed. Bobby's hand slid from her arm, to her back and down over her bottom. "Bobby!" she feigned shock at his touch.

He leaned down and whispered, "Why do you do this to me? You smell so good, you look ravishing and now you tell me you are completely accessible under that dress. Jesus, Gleason." He couldn't resist kissing her pulse spot.

Gleason smiled up at him. She was so happy.

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Bobby could not keep his hands off Gleason. They danced often and he exerted utter control not to embarrass himself with an erection each time. His passion rose as the time passed.

After eating a bit Bobby suddenly said, "I want to go home. Are you ready?"

"Bobby! We haven't been here but a short while; it would be rude to leave so soon. Let's be polite and stay a bit longer," she Gleason responded, leaning against his shoulder and chest and sliding her hand up his inner thigh, smiling up at him; she loved teasing him.

Bobby slid forward on the chair, leaned back and pulled the tail of the tablecloth up over his lap. "Touch me," he whispered into her ear.

Gleason pulled away from his shoulder where she rested and turned to look at him. Bobby smiled with lifted eyebrows and an imperceptible nod. She grinned, shaking her head and leaned back against him, sliding her hand once again, but all the way up this time.

A sharp inhale and long exhale indicated his want as Gleason took his already firming member in her hand. Through his trousers, she kneaded his penis and fondled his balls. A quiet moan issued beside her head.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she said softly.

"Don't stop," he replied.

Gleason continued and Bobby shifted again. He was fully erect and breathing quickly. "Bobby, you're not going to come, are you?"

"Huh uh," he breathed out.

She glanced up at him and saw that his face showed no sign of impending finality, aside from his slightly open lips. "That's enough; you're going to have to stand up at some point."

"No, don't stop! That's so good, keep going," he said into the side of her head.

Gleason stopped and sat up off him and said, "I'm going to mingle. Are you coming?" She stood, smiled down at him, extended her hand and looked at his pained expression.

"Glea-," he pleaded.

"Hey, what are you two doing back here in the corner? You're off here by yourselves, acting like a couple of newlyweds. You're not playing touchy-feely under the tablecloth, now are you?" Bill Perkins said as he wandered over.

"Detective Perkins, here, have a seat with Bobby. I'm going to the ladies room. I'll be back in a bit, Love," she said and wandered off, pulling her shawl over her shoulders.

Both men watched her walk away, admiring the sway of her hips and the swish of her skirts.

"She is a beautiful woman, Goren, one beautiful woman."

Bobby nodded and wanted nothing more than to take himself by his own hand and wank off under the tablecloth, all the while imagining himself sliding in and out of her tight little slit. Jesus.

"So, tell me about your honeymoon. Where'dya go? Whatcha do?"

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It was late when they finally got home and Gleason immediately slipped off her shoes, "Oh, these are treacherous!"

She bent to pick them up and Bobby stepped behind her, taking her hips, grinding against her. "I've wanted you all night," he said deeply.

"Well, you certainly have been attentive," she grinned, standing up and turning, "Would you pour us a glass of wine, Love?"

"Glea –, let's go to bed," he whined.

"Pour us a glass, I won't be a minute," she said and started for the bedroom.

Bobby sullenly did as she asked, removing his suit coat, hanging it over the back of a kitchen chair and nearly yanking at his top button. He finished filling the second glass when Gleason slid up behind him, running her hand up his back, taking a glass with her free hand, "Oh, thank you. This looks good," she sipped a taste. "Come, sit with me."

He followed to her the sofa, watching how his tee shirt that she wore to sleep in skimmed her bare bottom, teasing him. Bobby dropped to the sofa and set his glass on the end table, then reached for hers. Gleason tugged the hem of the shirt over her bottom, sat and Bobby folded her against him, his right arm around her shoulders. His lips went to her hair as her hand took his penis through his trousers. His eyes closed and he groaned softly, his hand tightening on her arm. "Jesus, Gleason," he murmured.

"Perhaps I should finish what I started earlier, eh?" she said softly into his neck, kissing softly and licking lightly.

Slowly, gently, she touched him, feeling his length swell and jerk. She smiled faintly at what she could do to him. "Good?" she asked. He moaned, shifted slightly and she took that as a yes.

"Oh God," he exhaled, tightening his arm around her as she stroked. She knew just what to do and she did it so well; he was rock hard in no time. "Honey . . . ," he breathed.

"Do you want me to lick you?"

"Huh uh, do that, just do that," he whispered, eyes closed. Her hand was just firm enough, light enough; she touched just the right places, in just the right ways.

"I'll suck you if you want," her voice was low, sensuous.

Bobby's head tilted back and his left hand covered hers, pressing it to grip tighter. She obliged, stoking his length as Bobby's breaths came faster.

"Let me suck you, Love," Gleason whispered next to his ear and barely licked it.

Bobby groaned and his head tilted toward her. Gleason nibbled his lobe and his hand tightened on hers, moving it, increasing the strokes. He moaned and grunted as he jerked once. "Glea – ungh, I'm, I, ungh. . ."

Her breath was hot against his ear as she whispered, "Do you want to come? Let me suck you and you come in my mouth," and she slid the tip of her tongue into his ear.

Bobby let go of her hand and scrabbled at his buckle, pulled at his button, yanked at his zipper. Gleason stretched the band of his boxers over his deep red dick and stroked its velvet length. "Fuck my mouth," she said deeply as she bent and took just the head between her lips, flicking her tongue on his tiny slit, tasting the salty drop.

His right hand went to the back of her head and gently pushed down as his hips pushed up. "Oh, fu–! Glea –!"

Gleason sucked the head hard, ran her tongue down the underside, dropped her mouth onto him and sucked the whole thing. His fingers tightened in her hair and she grinned inwardly. Her mouth surrounded his length and her juicy, hot mouth moved up and down, up and down so slowly, her tongue dragging against the underside. Bobby grunted twice and she moved her head faster – up and down, up and down; and then, with the head of his dick at the back of her mouth, her tongue continuing to rub the underside, she moaned around him.

"Aww, gaw-aw-aw-aw-d!" he growled, jerking and shooting his cum into her throat, holding her head with both hands, his hips lifting off the seat. Then his body bent forward, over her, and jerked in time with his penis. "Ungh, ungh, ungh!" he grunted as he came.

Gleason gagged, squeezed her eyes shut tight, swallowed and kept sucking. Bobby's gasping slowed and he pulled her head from his lap. "Jesus, Baby, Jesus Christ," he breathed, sucking air.

Gleason's hands flew to her mouth and she leapt from the sofa and ran to the bathroom. He heard her retch and his head dropped. Shit, he thought. Bobby stuffed his softening penis back into his boxers; he sat a minute, then stood, pulled up his trousers, and zipped, buttoned and buckled them. He started down the hallway and met her coming out of the bathroom.

"You ok?" he asked softly, bending to look into her face, his hands on her arms.

"Are you?" she asked smiling up at him.

Bobby studied her and then smiled widely, "I couldn't walk for a minute," he said, pulling her close, hugging her tight.

"So, you liked that, eh?"

"Dear God, Gleason, I had no idea that you would do that."

"Well, big boy, there's even more where that came from."

Bobby looked at this woman and had no idea who she was; but whoever she was, he loved her.

"Now, it's your turn." Gleason grinned up at him, took his hand and led him into the bedroom.

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	3. Chapter 3

16

Intentional End

August 19

Sunday Afternoon

"Do you think she'll like the things we bought for her?" Gleason asked as they rode up to Bobby's mother's floor at Carmel Ridge.

"I'm sure she will. She'll enjoy looking at the photos. We should have put them in an album, though. You watch, she'll say something about them being loose. You watch."

Gleason smiled up at him and squeezed his hand.

"Bobby, Gleason," Mrs. Goren said softly, noticing them as they entered.

"Mom?" Bobby was surprised at her appearance – so thin, she seemed visibly thinner each time he saw her. And her colour. . . "Are you ok, Mom?"

He thought she looked better last Sunday evening when Bobby and Gleason had come to Carmel Ridge to visit the evening they had returned from their two-week honeymoon in Scotland. Bobby had spoken with his mother and her doctors four times while they were away. Mrs. Goren hadn't even realized they had been gone.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, Bobby," his mother said with a breathiness that had not been there a week ago. "Come, sit down. Gleason, Dear, how are you?"

"I'm fine, Mrs. Goren. How are you? You seem tired," her daughter-in-law answered, setting the shopping bag beside her on the floor.

"Oh, I suppose I am tired. Are you pregnant yet?"

"Mom . . . don't, we're. . ." Bobby said softly, gesturing with both hands; he continued with, "Can I get you anything? Do you want some tea, or juice? Are you warm enough?"

"No, nothing for me; a nap would be good, though. I am so tired, Bobby, just so tired."

Bobby sat back in the chair with his elbows on the arms and his fingers tented in front of his lips. The three were quiet for a moment.

Mrs. Goren perked up with, "Hey, Christian has been around a lot! He is such a dear boy. We talk and talk. I don't know what he does while I nap. He doesn't seem to get into anything, though." Mrs. Goren leaned forward in her chair and turned to look toward the drapes. "There you are, Sweet Pea! Come say 'hi' to your daddy and mommy. Come on, come here."

Christian stood shyly beside the drapes, his head tilted in the manner of his daddy. He knew his daddy and mommy couldn't see him, only Gramma. Slowly the child walked toward her.

Bobby and Gleason both looked toward the drapes and saw drapes. They watched Bobby's mother speak to the air and watched her extend an arm, beckoning and then welcoming someone. "Here's my Sweet Pea. Say 'hi' to Daddy and Mommy." Mrs. Goren sat with her hands folded in her lap; she knew the boy was shy about being touched. "Go on, Dear, say 'hi.'"

Christian looked from his gramma to his daddy and then to his mommy, but said nothing – they couldn't see him and they couldn't hear him when they were awake. He wasn't sure why, but it was different when they were sleeping.

"Bobby, Christian needs some new books. Get your son some new ones, nonfiction this time – books about dinosaurs and outer space."

His eyes slammed shut at her use of 'your son' and Gleason hitched a silent gasp. It sounded so normal, so real. So possible.

"Sure, Mom."

Again, the three sat quietly. Christian sat on the floor and wondered if his daddy and mommy knew how sick Gramma was. Daddy knew something was wrong with her; the child had noticed how surprised Daddy was when he came in and saw Gramma. _Go find out, Daddy, _the child said to his father.

"Mom, I'm going to speak to the nurse for a minute. Do you want me to bring anything back for you?"

"Huh?" Mrs. Goren seemed to have dozed a minute, "No, I don't need a bath! It's too early for a bath. What are you thinking? A bath! At this hour!"

Gleason and Bobby shared a quick look and Bobby stood and left.

"Mrs. Goren, I'll be going back to Evanston this Wednesday. The semester starts a week from tomorrow. Bobby will come up next weekend."

"School starts already? What month is this? I'll tell you, Gleason, you and Bobby have to think about getting Christian registered for kindergarten soon, he's growing up. He's a smart boy, just like his Uncle Frank and Daddy and you, of course." She looked at the child only she could see, sitting on the floor, playing with his shoelace.

"See," pointing to the invisible child on the floor, "you're going to have to teach him how to tie his shoes. Oh, Bobby had a terrible time learning to do that; he's left-handed, you know. So is Frank, but Frank had no trouble; Frank had no trouble learning just about anything. _He's_ the smart one, my Frank is. Bobby is good, but Frank is smart."

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"Excuse me," Bobby said to the nurse pushing the medicine cart at the far end of the hall.

"Mr. Goren! How nice to see you. What can I do for you?"

"Uh, can I speak with someone about my mother? She looks awfully pale and seems so thin in just a week. I'm, I'm concerned. Is Dr. Shinto in?"

"Let me lock this up and we'll go see who is here," the nurse said, sliding shut the lid to the cart and locking up the drawers. "There we are. Come with me."

Bobby and the short, chubby nurse in navy blue scrubs walked together to the front desk.

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"Gleason, do you plan to have more children? Christian needs a brother or a sister. It's good that you and I can talk about this without Bobby, he's so sensitive about this." Mrs. Goren's face lit up and she leaned forward.

Gleason's lips closed in on each other and she pushed back the loose strands of hair tickling her face. "Oh, Mrs. Goren, I don't –."

"That's another thing, I'm your mother-in-law now and you should call me 'Mom.' Of course, if you are comfortable with that, I mean. You never speak of your own mother. Where is she? Has Bobby met your parents? What about your father? I should meet them, don't you think? It's only right.

"Do you have siblings, Dear? Bobby has Frank and Frank has Bobby. If you have a sibling, you'll never be alone. That's why I think you and Bobby should get going and get pregnant, so Christian will not be alone. I'm sure you and Bobby have a healthy sexual relationship. Oh, I don't mean to embarrass you, Dear." Mrs. Goren saw the red creeping into Gleason's cheeks and noticed how the woman squirmed in her chair and was quiet a moment.

But for only a moment, "When do you think you'll get pregnant? Don't wait too long. I can see that you are not a spring chicken any more, but I'm sure you are young enough to not make the papers by having a child, right?" Bobby's mother leaned forward, smiling widely, looking expectantly.

Everything Bobby's mother was spewing – Gleason's parents, a baby, siblings, getting pregnant – overwhelmed Gleason and she fought tears. Bobby, where are you, she wondered.

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"I'm sorry, Mr. Goren, but Dr. Shinto is away for the weekend. Dr. Marcazie is covering, but has no information about your mother beyond what is in her file. Dr. Shinto will be back on Monday. Perhaps you can call him then. I am sorry."

The disappointment was clear on Bobby's face. "All right; I, I can't read her file, can I?" He knew the answer, but thought he'd try anyway.

"I'm sorry."

He nodded and mumbled, "Thank you," and returned to his mother's room.

"Bobby! When did you get here? Come, sit down. Oh, it is good to see you. Gleason's been here for a while, where were you?"

Bobby glanced at his wife and saw that she had been hiding tears; her eyes were red as was her nose. "Honey?"

She shook her head, and closed her eyes, opening them to see the pain in his face. Gleason reached for his hand and said, "Mrs. Goren, Bobby and I have some things for you from our honeymoon."

"Honeymoon? When did you go on a honeymoon? Why didn't you tell me? Where did you go?" She stopped suddenly and looked down at the space beside her chair, apparently listening. "You know they went away, do you? _Scotland_?" She looked back up at the couple and said, "Did you two go all the way to Scotland?"

The hairs on the back of Bobby's neck stood up and a chill ran through Gleason. Bobby wiped his face with both hands and sat up, reaching for the shopping bag between his chair and Gleason's. "Uh, Mom, here, look at this. . ." Bobby and Gleason gave his mother her gifts: a flannel-lined, hand-knitted wrap with pockets, a soft woolen throw of Black Watch tartan, and a box of lavender-scented bath powder. His mother was thrilled with each item. "Oh, Bobby, Gleason, thank you so much. I can use each of these. Thank you."

Bobby felt as he had when he was twelve and had saved for a Mother's Day gift – an inexpensive broach he had purchased at Gimbel's – she had liked that gift as well.

"What did you bring for your son?"

The couple stopped dead. Mrs. Goren looked to the floor and listened again, then said, "Christian said you'll bring his gift next time, is that right?"

A nod was all he could manage; then, "We took pictures, Mrs. Goren," Gleason offered.

"Pictures! Are they in albums?"

Bobby smiled and looked at his wife. She returned the smile and handed him the envelope.

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August 22

Wednesday Afternoon

"I love you, Sweetheart," he murmured into her neck as they said good-bye outside security at JFK. Gleason was on her way back to Evanston to prepare for the start of classes the following Monday. Bobby would join her Friday night.

"I love you more. Now, go. You need to get back to work. I'll call you tonight."

Bobby did not want to let go of her. They spent the entire summer together in New York, except for the two-week honeymoon in Scotland, and it had been wonderful. "Call me when you land, ok?"

"I will. I have to go, Love, the line for security is backing up. I love you."

Bobby held her head and kissed her deeply, then let her go. "I love you."

Gleason waved and turned to enter the security queue. Bobby watched her and then he left, heading back to OPP.

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	4. Chapter 4

25

Intentional End

Chapter 4

August 24, 25, 26

Friday Evening through Sunday Evening

Bobby and Gleason spent the weekend together at the apartment in Evanston. Although, 'together' is a relative term. Gleason worked full days preparing for her classes as the syllabus for each class contained minor changes and she needed to adjust each course calendar and alter the project requirements. In addition, she wanted to finish the new resource packet for the Meiserian Forms class.

Bobby spent the days reading and cooking. "I'm sorry we're not doing so much, Love," Gleason said Saturday evening."

"Gleason, I want to be with you, near you, that's all. We don't need to do something every minute. You have work to do. I just want to be with you. This is what being married is like." God he loved her.

She smiled and loved him with all her heart.

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August 30

Thursday Midmorning

"Eames, there's a memo here you should read," Bobby said to his partner as she returned with her cup, dunking a teabag by its string.

She sat and scooted her chair forward, logged on, clicked a few times and sat forward to read, sipping her tea. Bobby glanced at her several times as she read and then watched her sit back in the chair and stare at the screen.

"Did you know?" he asked.

Eames didn't respond; then she turned to look at Sledge, who sat watching her, their eyes locked and he nodded toward the crash room. Bobby watched them both and then asked, "You ok?"

She looked back at her partner without expression, set down her cup and stood. Bobby saw Sledge rise and take a step but Sullivan intercepted him with a clap on the shoulder and a hearty handshake. Sledge and Bobby both watched Eames head for the elevators.

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The student assistant popped into the doorway of Gleason's office and said, "Dr. Wintermantle, Dr. Manlowe called and would like to speak with you in his office after your two o'clock class today."

Gleason looked up from gathering her things, "Thank you." What is this about, she wondered.

After class, she trudged to the Dean's office in Townsend Hall, lugging a tote filled with ninety-two initial assessments.

"Here, let me carry that for you, Gleason." Malcolm strode up behind her and took the heavy bag.

"Oh, thank you, Malcolm, it is so heavy. Where are you off to, I thought you had office hours at this time."

"I do, but Manlowe called and wants to see me."

Gleason stopped, "He wants to see me as well. I wonder what's up."

Malcolm thought, I hope this isn't about Gleason and me, then he said it out loud, "I hope this isn't about you and me."

"Malcolm, there is no 'you and me.' Please," she said scornfully. Malcolm had backed way off since she and Bobby were married; and, apparently, he and his wife had reconciled.

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"Eames! Wait up," Bobby called as he trotted behind her. The elevator doors began to close and Bobby stopped them with a hand, stepped into the car and stood beside her. They rode silently to the lobby and then down to the parking deck, exiting on P2. Eames strode away and Bobby followed her. "Eames," he said softly.

"Leave me alone," she said over her shoulder.

Bobby hustled to her and took an arm, slowing her. She stopped and looked at the floor. Bobby bent at the waist and looked up into her face, "You didn't know?"

Her hands flew to her face her and she issued a sad, soft mewling. Bobby straightened and didn't know what to do, and he didn't know what to say. "Eames –," he struggled, pulling his handkerchief from his back pocket and offering it. She took it and wiped her face and then her nose.

"Let's sit," he told her, starting for his car. He took a few steps, noticed that she wasn't following and held out his arm. "Come on. Let's sit and talk."

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Malcolm pulled open the door and they stepped to the receptionist's desk. Gerald, the administrative assistant lit up and said, "Dr. Conway, Dr. Wintermantle! Dr. Manlowe is expecting you. Everyone is in the conference room."

"Everyone?" Malcolm asked.

"Please, go right in."

Gleason entered the conference room with Malcolm right behind her. Dr. Manlowe rose, as did the other two men. "Here are our resident experts! Come in, come in." Manlowe stepped around the table and ushered Gleason to a seat. "Dr. Gleason Wintermantle and Dr. Malcolm Conway, I would like to introduce you both to, uh, oh," the old man stammered and stuttered, looking at the two men in suits and continued with, "I am sorry, I am not good with names as I am old now you see." He nodded and smiled.

The taller man extended his hand to Gleason and said, "Special Agent Davis and this is Special Agent Rodriquez." Everyone shook hands and then everyone sat.

"Are we in trouble?" Malcolm asked with a straight face.

"No, no. We need your expertise in ancient languages and cultures," Davis said with a slight smile.

Gleason looked from Manlowe to the two men, then to Malcolm. She wished Bobby were here, she was mildly frightened.

"What's this about?" Malcolm seemed to take the lead and Gleason was just fine with that.

"First I must explain and emphasize the sensitive nature of what I am about to tell you. You are to tell no one, not family, colleagues – no one – that we have had this conversation. You can say nothing to anyone about the content of this conversation." Davis looked at each of them, his sincerity was clear. "Do you both understand?"

Gleason nodded mutely but Malcolm went skeptical. "Are you serious? This is all very Mission Impossible sounding; but, really, what is this about?"

Manlowe spoke up first, "Malcolm, shut up and listen, will you?"

Malcolm was shocked and Gleason was amazed at the old man's strict tone and terse words.

"Let me ask again, do you both swear to silence regarding this conversation?"

They both answered with 'yes.'

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The partners sat silently in the front seat of Bobby's SUV. Bobby waited for Eames to begin, watching her fingers twist his handkerchief.

"He moved out – just left – the morning after your wedding, actually."

Bobby listened.

"He didn't say why, he just left." She was quiet a moment, then said sadly, "He said he couldn't do it anymore. And he left."

Bobby listened.

"He'd kept his place and would stay there a week or so a month, but mostly he'd stay at my place."

Bobby listened.

"I'd suggested we move in together for real; but –," Eames just shook her head.

Bobby listened.

"We'd had ups and downs, like any couple. Like you and Gleason," she glanced up at him at this.

Bobby listened.

Eames sighed deeply and wiped her eyes. "I was stupid to think it would work." She shook her head.

Bobby listened and then said quietly, "Maybe you should talk to him. He was coming over to speak with you when Sullivan stopped him."

It was Eames's turn to listen.

"Tomorrow is his last day, he's moving to DC. Eames . . . you, you should really talk with him."

"What is there to say? It was his choice. The whole time we were together, we played by his rules. I was an idiot to think anything would come of it." She shook her head sadly and then continued, "I gave up so much of myself for him." Eames thought a minute and said, "Not really. It was mostly good. Mostly fun. But, he, he's still in love with his ex-wife." She looked up at Bobby, "They get together in Toronto a couple times each year. Probably have a fuck-fest up there."

Bobby looked away and pursed his lips, mildly disappointed in her choice of words, but realizing the depth of her hurt.

They sat quietly for several minutes then Bobby said, "We should go back up." Neither made a move. "What are you going to do?"

Eames said nothing, shook her head and opened her door. They returned to the eleventh floor in silence.

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"All right then," Rodriguez began, "Each of you has the required skill set to assist the American government in reading and understanding the writing found on an artifact. You, in particular, Dr. Wintermantle, are a recognized expert in deciphering ancient and obscure languages. Your skills are needed to read and interpret the writing. Dr. Conway, your expertise as a cultural anthropologist is needed to infer the cultural mores indicated by the writing."

"All right, I can do that. Do you have the writing with you?" Gleason spoke for the first time.

"We don't have it here," Davis replied.

"When can I see it?" she asked.

The hesitation was obvious. "Before we go any further, are you willing to cooperate in deciphering the writing?"

Gleason looked at Malcolm and he looked back at her. "I am," she said.

"Gleason, wait," Malcolm cautioned, putting a hand on her arm, "Do you have a photo, a scan or rubbing? When do you want this done?"

The agents shared a glance, and then Agent Davis said, "Thank you, Dr. Conway; it seems we'll be working with Dr. Wintermantle." The two agents rose and Manlowe just shook his head.

Malcolm looked at them both with his mouth open and then Gleason asked, "Wait. Please, may I speak with my colleague privately for a moment?"

The men looked at each other and then Manlowe rose and they left. Gleason placed her hand on Malcolm's upper arm and said, "Malcolm, don't be stupid. This is a wonderful opportunity. It's the American government, for goodness sake! This is really big. They fly us to Washington or someplace, we look at some piece of mud or some scans and then we fly home. I've done consultancy work; this is a good thing. It's the _government_, Malcolm! Say you'll do it. Please?"

Malcolm could not believe that Gleason was serious; but she was excited, and adorable. "All right, but I do not have a good feeling about this, Gleason." He stepped to the conference room door and opened it. "Gentlemen?" Everyone trooped back in and took their seats.

Malcolm began, "Dr. Wintermantle has convinced me that it is our responsibility to assist the American government. I would like to be a part of your investigation."

Rodriquez and Davis passed a second look and then they looked at Manlowe who nodded imperceptibly. "Well, that is good to know. Now, if you two would each sign this," Rodriguez pulled two sheets of paper from the briefcase setting on the chair beside him, "then we will begin."

Gleason took the sheet offered to her, as did Malcolm. "What is this?" she asked.

"Please read it in its entirety," Rodriguez said, sliding two pens across the table.

They did and then Malcolm looked up and said, "This is a confidentiality agreement."

"Please sign it." Malcolm and Gleason both hesitated, but signed. "As you read, you are not permitted to say anything to anyone about the proceedings here today. Furthermore, you are not permitted to say anything to anyone about the work you are about to undertake. All arrangements have been made and your families will be notified of your absence. You have nothing to worry about."

"Hold on here," Malcolm began.

Gleason sat forward and asked, "What do you mean you will inform our families of our absence? Where are we going?"

Davis looked at the tabletop and then responded, "You will be joining four other scientists stationed at a temporary military base fitted with all of the scientific equipment you may need. You will be gone for approximately six weeks. You will leave from this meeting."

Gleason's hand went to her mouth, "Oh, I, I am sorry, but. . ."

"You have agreed to this by signing that document. Please go with these agents, they will see after your safe transport." Malcolm and Gleason turned to see a woman and man enter the conference room.

Gleason looked at Malcolm with terror, "Malcolm –?"

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Sledge watched his former lover's partner return alone. Bobby went to his desk, stood reading a new pink phone message note, and then looked over at Sledge. Perkins and Caruso were talking and laughing with him. Nevertheless, Sledge and Bobby made eye contact. Detective Perkins and Officer Caruso each shook Sledge's hand, walked away, and Sledge headed toward Bobby.

"Is she ok?" he asked.

"Uh, you'll have to ask her about that," Bobby responded.

The men stood quietly and then Bobby added, "I guess congratulations are in order," and stuck out his hand.

"Yeah, thanks. Where is she?" he replied and shook the offered hand.

"She stopped in the restroom." Sledge nodded and Bobby continued, "When did all of this happen?"

"It's been a long time coming. They approached me about a year ago. I'd been thinking of making a move before Alex and I got together. Then, there was Alex and so I put them off. Then it started being less than good between us and I figured now the time was right."

Bobby wanted to ask Sledge why he hadn't told Alex about his decision to accept an offer from the FBI, but he didn't. Although, he thought it was wrong of Sledge to not have told her; he owed her that much. Sledge had hurt Eames terribly.

"Well, uh, good luck."

"Yeah, thanks." Sledge looked toward the door, watching for Alex.

Bobby hesitated and then said, "Uh, it's, it's none of my business, but, but you should maybe talk with her. It would be the right thing to do."

Sledge shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at the floor, "I know, I know. Tonight." They stood quietly for a minute and then returned to their work.

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Without thinking, Malcolm put his arm around Gleason then turned and said to Manlowe, "Gene, what is going on here?"

"Please, just do what they say. You will be safe. We will see you back here in a few weeks. Thank you, both of you. Thank you." He couldn't look at them any longer and slouched heavily into his chair.

"Come with us, please," the male agent said as he took Malcolm by the arm.

Inside the dark van, Gleason's purse was confiscated and Malcolm's pockets were emptied. Gleason asked the female agent, "Please, may I call my husband? He will be worried."

"Your husband and your wife, Dr. Conway, will be notified of your participation in this mission. You have nothing to be concerned about."

"Where are we going? Can you tell us that?"

"Right now, you are going to O'Hare for a flight to Helsinki."

"What? What about Gleason's heart medication? Passports?" Malcolm asked.

"We have secured your travel papers, your clothing and toiletries will be provided and your medical needs are taken care of. You have nothing to be concerned about."

Gleason sat close to Malcolm and he wrapped his arm around her again. "Malcolm, I am so sorry I talked you into this. Forgive me," and she began to cry softly.

"Shush, Love, shush. It's all right. We'll be home in six weeks. That sounds like a long time right now, but it will pass quickly, once we are into the research. You'll see. You'll see. Now shush."

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	5. Chapter 5

Late Thursday Afternoon

"Goren, my office," Deakins called from his door.

Bobby crossed the space and entered.

"Shut the door," Deakins said as the man in the chair stood up and turned to face Bobby. "Detective Goren, this is Special Agent Wycoff, Detective Goren. Sit down, Bobby."

The two men shook hands and Bobby sat. "Special Agent Wycoff here is with the FBI. He wants to talk to you. I'll be upstairs if you need me." With that, Deakins left the two men alone and shut the office door behind him.

"What's this about?" Bobby asked.

"Dr. Gleason Wintermantle is your wife – correct, Detective?"

"Yes, is she all right?"

"She is fine. Dr. Wintermantle has agreed to cooperate with the American government in identifying some writing on an artifact. We appreciate her cooperation in this matter as she seems to be the top expert in deciphering ancient and obscure languages."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Your wife will be away for about six weeks, give or take, completing her analysis. This visit is a courtesy to you so you would not worry about her absence."

"Six weeks? Where is she going? When does she leave?"

"Her destination and the details about her work are confidential. She has signed a confidentiality agreement so she will not be able to discuss this with you upon her return. She has already left."

Bobby stood and paced in a square, "What?! She's already gone? What about her heart medication? She has a heart condition and needs medication."

"All of her basic needs have been attended to, including her medical needs. She will be cared for completely. You have nothing to be concerned about."

"Where is she going?"

"As I said, Detective, that is confidential. I assure you; no harm will come to her. She is doing the American government a tremendous service. You should be proud of her."

Bobby continued to pace and his agitation continued to climb, "I want to talk with her. How can I reach her? I want to speak with her."

Agent Wycoff stood and faced the detective; the Captain had warned him about this man's temper, "Detective, calm down. You cannot reach your wife. She is safe and will be in the protective custody of the United States government during her assistance. She will return in six week's time, perhaps sooner. Now sit down."

Bobby was at a loss, where is she? "You cannot do this. You cannot just pluck someone and sweep them off somewhere for six weeks. Tell me where she is!"

"Detective, I am warning you, calm down right now. Your wife is safe; no harm will come to her. Trust me; she is safe; let us do our job. Let her do her job. Now, I am going to leave and you are going to go back to your work. We will periodically update you to let you know how she is doing, do not try to contact us. Do we understand each other?" Agent Wycoff waited and then added, "I need to hear you say that you understand, Detective."

Bobby looked darkly at the other man and then spat out, "Yes, yes! I understand."

"Thank you for your cooperation. Have a good day." With that, Agent Wycoff left the office and walked straight to the elevators. Bobby stayed in Deakins' office for a few minutes and then returned to his desk. He tore his chair from its place and sat, hands over his face.

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Sledge caught Eames as she returned to the bullpen. "Alex," he said softly. She ignored him and kept walking. Sledge stopped and watched her continue to her desk, debating what to do.

Bobby flipped shut his cell, Gleason didn't answer her cell, so he tried her office.

"Ancient Studies, can I help you?"

"Hi, this is Robert Goren, why didn't this call go straight to Gleason Wintermantle's phone?" he asked.

"Oh, uh, faculty calls are currently being redirected through the department desk."

This didn't sound right, he thought. "Then put me through to Dr. Wintermantle, please."

"One moment."

Bobby heard a click, soft music, another click and then nothing.

He took the phone from his ear and stared at it. Then, he re-dialed, listened to the ring, heard a click, another and then nothing.

What is going on, he wondered. Bobby snapped shut his phone and saw Deakins return from the elevators.

"I need to speak with you," he said standing, following and then shutting Deakins' office door behind him. "What the fuck do you know about this?" he asked darkly.

"Bobby, I know nothing. I had a call that an agent was coming over to speak with you and to make sure you would be here. Since you and Eames were scheduled inside today, I said you would be here. Twenty minutes later, Wycoff shows up and he tells me he needs to speak to you about Gleason. I ask if she is ok, he says yes and then he asks if he needs to know anything about you. I tell him you have a bad temper, but are not violent and then he said to ask you to come in and that I was to leave. That's it. If I knew anything else, you know I would tell you." Deakins looked at the other man pace. "So, what's up? What can you tell me? Do I even want to know? Bobby, sit down."

Bobby stopped, looked at the man he trusted most and then sat. "He told me that Gleason is going to be working for the government for six weeks, he wouldn't say where. She's going to decipher some writing or something. I can't contact her, she can't contact me. They'll keep me informed. That's it."

Deakins and Bobby looked at each other and Deakins knew what Bobby was thinking. "Bobby, Wycoff told me to tell you not to try and use any resources to investigate this. He said you would be wise to let it be and wait for her to come home. Do what he says, Bobby. Let it be. Let Gleason do what she needs to do and then she will be home. Don't make trouble for her."

"'Don't make trouble for her?' What the hell is she doing? She's going to be gone for six weeks! Jesus, six weeks! I need to know where she is, that she's ok. I need to know, Captain." Bobby sounded desperate.

"Look, I'm telling you this as your boss and as your friend, do not pursue this, Bobby. It's the government. You will only make trouble for Gleason. It's _only_ six weeks. Let it be."

"I don't have a good feeling about this. I don't. Something isn't right. I'm going to check out this Wycoff, see if he is who he says he is." Bobby stood and had his hand on the doorknob when Deakins said, "Don't do anything, Bobby. You will only make it worse. Let it be."

Bobby stopped and looked at this boss, "You know something, don't you?"

Deakins sighed and threw his pen onto the desk, "No, Bobby, I don't know anything. What I do know is that you are only going to make trouble. I'm ordering you to let it go. Wait for her to come home."

"You cannot order me on this, this is my wife! I'll do what I have to do," and Bobby strode back to his desk.

Deakins looked sadly at the man leave and lifted the phone, dialed, waited and then said, "He's going to make trouble."

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Eames stood at the fax machine, waiting for the paperwork from the Air Base at XXX. A pilot had been found shot to death in his living room and his Brazilian wife was nowhere to be found. Major Case was involved to work with the Air Force.

Sledge walked to her and stood with his hands in his pockets, "Hon," he said softly.

"You fucking bastard," she replied just as softly.

"We need to talk."

"You're just thinking of that _now_?" Eames glanced up at him and turned to walk away.

Without thinking, Sledge grabbed her arm and Alex wrenched away, "Keep your fucking hands off me, you bastard!" she said not so quietly.

Nearly the entire bullpen turned toward the couple, stared, and then returned to their business. Eames walked to her desk and Sledge watched her go.

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Thursday Night

"Alex, open the goddamn door," Sledge said darkly, quietly, leaning with his forehead against it. "I'm not leaving." He knew she was in there; she'd hung up on him when he'd called from the car. "Open the fucking door!" He'd left his key on the night table the last time he left.

A click, another, and he pushed it open and entered, shutting and locking it behind him. Alex crossed to the sofa, sat and drew up her legs; a nearly empty bottle of wine sat beside her glass on the end table. She had been crying.

"Hon –," and he didn't know what else to say. Eames wouldn't look at him, sobs hitched in her chest, and she wiped at her eyes and nose with the handkerchief Bobby had given her this afternoon.

Slowly, Sledge crossed the room and sat beside her. She turned, putting her back to him. "Hon, I'm sorry. I should have told you what I was going to do. I'm sorry."

Eames said nothing and reached for her glass. Sledge turned toward her, put a hand on her shoulder and took the glass from her, setting it on the coffee table. "Look at me. Come on, turn around and look at me."

Her head dropped and she cried anew and Sledge felt like shit. "Hon, come here." He turned her and she acquiesced, leaning against his chest and crying like a child. "Oh, Hon. I am so sorry. Alex . . . I am so sorry."

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Even though he knew he would find nothing, Bobby sat at in their apartment with a beer and his laptop searching the FBI web pages. He got further than most citizens do as he improperly and illegally used department access codes. He knew that these searches were laying down cookies on his home computer, and that he could get into serious trouble, but he didn't care.

Four hours later, he was frustrated and knew nothing – just as he had figured. Wycoff showed up nowhere anywhere Bobby had looked. He searched for anything related to anything and found nothing. Whatever Gleason was doing, it was deep.

Bobby closed up his computer, put his empty beer bottle in the recycling bin and headed to bed; but he didn't sleep.

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Sledge sat on Alex's sofa, holding her as she slept. They had talked and nothing was any better. He loved Alex, and he still loved his ex-wife, Linda, and he wanted to be away from them both.

What is wrong with me? he asked himself. This woman loves me and I love her. So, why can't I commit to her? What am I running from? What am I looking for? Sledge hated himself.

Alex sighed, shifted and woke. "Edward?" she asked drowsily.

"Hon, you awake?"

She unfolded herself from him, stretched and nodded, "Let's go to bed," she said standing.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Alex," he replied, looking up at her.

"Yeah, come on. I want to." They stared at each other, each knowing this was not a good idea at all and she reached her hand toward him. He took it and followed her to the bedroom.

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	6. Chapter 6

35

Intentional End

Chapter 6

Friday

September 7

It was Bobby's weekend off and he wanted to go to Evanston to see what he could find out about Gleason's abduction. He went into work early and left after ten, taking a partial day's personal time and drove to Carmel Ridge to visit his mother.

Bobby arrived just as her morning snack arrived. "Mom?" he said as he entered.

"Bobby? Bobby!" Mrs. Goren seemed neither better nor worse than she had the previous two days. He tried to get his mother to eat something, but she refused. He insisted she at least drink her juice and she got angry and began to cough. Bobby hailed a nurse from the hallway; the nurse asked him to step out for a few minutes. His mother was in bed and seemed to be struggling to breathe when the nurse invited him back in.

"Is she ok?" he asked the nurse.

"She's getting old," was the reply.

Bobby sat with his mother for an hour; she dozed most of the time. He patted her arm and kissed her cheek, hoping to rouse her. "Oh, Bobby, when did you get here?" she asked weakly. Bobby looked at her and didn't want to leave; but he knew he had to.

"Mom, I have to go to Evanston for a few days. I'll see you on Sunday evening. Are you going to be ok until I get back?"

"Huh?" she asked. "You're going to find Frank? What's he doing in Edmonton?"

He did not want to leave. "I have to go, Mom. I'll call you tomorrow and on Sunday and then I'll see you Sunday evening. Ok?" Mrs. Goren nodded and went right back to sleep.

Before he left, he spoke to the nurses, wondering if he should leave town. "Go," they told him, "We'll call you if anything happens." He was reluctant to leave, but they assured him he should.

From Carmel Ridge, Bobby drove to JFK and caught a flight to Chicago. He took a cab from O'Hare to Gleason's apartment; he let himself in and looked around, treating the place like a crime scene. He didn't know if she had been taken from home or while at the university.

Nothing looked out of place. Her tiny worktable looked as though she had just gotten up and gone to class. The dish strainer held a single cup, plate, knife and the teapot. The dishcloth lay over the front edge of the sink as she leaves it and the tea towel sat folded on the counter top as is her way.

The bed was made and her green throw lay at the foot; she will be missing her blanket, he thought. All of her clothes were in place and her carpetbag sat in the bottom of the closet. Her toiletries were as they always were in the bathroom as were her heart pills and packet of birth control pills.

He noticed that her car was in her parking spot outside the apartment. She would have driven herself to campus as she did everyday. If she was taken from the university, someone brought back her car; or, she was taken from here.

Bobby went to get the extra set of car keys from the bowl on the end table, but they were gone. He walked to Gleason's car and again, he examined it as he would have had it been a part of a crime scene. It was locked, so he checked the rear passenger tire and, sure enough, the keys sat on top of it.

He carefully lifted them from the tire and wished he had latex and an evidence bag. He was tempted to call the Evanston police and have their CSU dust the vehicle for prints. However, he had no cause; and besides, he knew that if the government was involved in her abduction, the vehicle would reveal nothing.

Bobby drove to campus and parked in the faculty lot, using Gleason's swipe card and parking tag that she kept tucked in the visor. Then, he walked to Margrave Hall and Gleason's office but the receptionist stopped him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Goren, but Dr. Wintermantle is away conducting research. I, I thought you knew that," the department secretary said. Two student workers and one faculty member stopped and watched Dr. Wintermantle's husband.

"I know what she is doing! I need to go into her office. Give me the key." Bobby was trying hard to remain calm.

"Oh, I, I, Mr. Goren, I cannot do that. Campus security has locked it and I don't have the key. Please, you'll need to speak with the Dean, Dr. Manlowe. He's over in Townsend Hall. I'm sorry."

Bobby wiped his hand over his face and straightened his shoulders. He wanted to wring this woman's neck. "Where is Townsend Hall?"

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"Oh gee whiz, I am so sorry you walked all the way over here. Dr. Manlowe has had a minor heart attack and will not be in for several weeks. The people in Margrave should have told you that. I am sorry."

Bobby was furious. "So, there's no one I can speak to about getting into my wife's office?"

"I am sorry, Mr. Wintermantle."

"Goren, my name is Detective Robert Goren. Who is in charge when the Dean is out?"

"Uh, that, that would be the Associate Dean, Dr. Berger."

"Is he in?"

"No, she's away at a conference. Look, sir, I am very sorry for your trouble, but, there is nothing I can do to help you."

Bobby stared at the slight man behind the desk. He wanted to wring this guy's neck, too. In fact, Bobby wanted to leave a string of bodies across this campus until he got some answers.

Without a word, Bobby turned and stormed out.

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Bobby pulled out of the parking lot and drove aimlessly. He couldn't think straight. Where is she? Where the fuck _is_ she! He wanted to pound something; he hadn't felt this kind of rage in months. Jesus!

He knew he had to calm down. He glanced at the clock on the dash and decided to get something to eat. Most of the food in Gleason's refrigerator had spoilt, so he had tossed out just about everything.

Bobby stopped at a family style restaurant and had a good dinner. Then, he drove back to the apartment.

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"Hey! How are ya? Where's your wife been?" Gladys shouted, trotting toward Bobby as he walked from the car. Shit, he thought. "I ain't seen her around but a few days early on. She gone back to New York again?"

He put the key in the door and stepped inside, turning to reply. "No, she's abroad conducting research."

Gladys nodded and leaned on the wall beside the door, "She is one smart and good looking woman. You are a lucky guy, you know that?"

This woman disgusted Bobby and he wanted to be rid of her. Then he had a thought, "Say, have you noticed anyone going in or out of her apartment?"

Gladys' face took on a look of deep concentration, "Nope, not that I noticed. Something not right in there?" She straightened up and moved to enter, but Bobby stopped her with an arm to the door.

"Has anyone been asking about her?"

"No one asked me nothing about her. Everything ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, I was just wondering." Another thought, "Her mail, have you been collecting her mail?"

"Uh, no. She didn't say nothing to me about being away so she musta put a hold on it at the post office. Nothin's been delivered for her since she left."

Bobby nodded and started to shut the door, "Well, thanks for looking out for her. See you."

Gladys turned and walked off and thought, I wonder if I should tell him about those suits just sitting in their car out front on the street a coupla weeks back. Nah, he was asking about since Gleason has been gone. Wonder when she's coming back?

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Bobby sat on the sofa in the dark and thought of her, where she might be, what is she doing, how were they treating her, is she was cold or frightened? He thought of Malcolm, and wondered where _they_ might be, what _they_ might be doing. After nearly two hours of sitting in the dark, Bobby got up and went into the bathroom and then the bedroom. He stripped and slid into her side of the bed, clutching her pillow, inhaling her scent and fell asleep.

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	7. Chapter 7

39

Intentional End

Chapter 7

Saturday Midmorning

September 8

Bobby found a jar of applesauce in the cupboard and ate that for breakfast. He called Carmel Ridge and spoke first with the nurse and then with his mother. The nurse said Mrs. Goren had had a restful night, but was tired and preferred not to dress today. She hadn't eaten her breakfast, but had sipped a cup of coffee. Bobby thought his mother sounded tired but seemed cheerful.

Afterward, Bobby slouched on the sofa and stretched out his legs so that his feet rested on the upholstered wing chair across from him. His right hand sat tucked inside his left armpit and he chewed on his left thumb. Where is she? He needed to do something to find her. Maeve! He would call Malcolm's wife.

"Hello?" her voice was soft and cautious.

"Maeve, it's Bobby Goren."

"Yes, Bobby! Have you learned something?"

"No, no, not yet. Listen, I'm in Evanston. Would it be possible for us to meet somewhere?"

"Angus is napping and I don't want to disturb him. Can you come here?"

"Yes, where are you?"

The address was nine blocks west of Gleason's apartment. Fifteen minutes later, Bobby climbed the steps to the front porch and Maeve met him at the door.

"Bobby, come in," she said with her hand out.

"Thanks for seeing me," he took her hand and pressed it between his.

"Come, I've put on a pot of coffee. Do you drink coffee?" She led him down the center hall to the kitchen in the back of the house.

Maeve's youthful appearance stunned Bobby; she looked like a co-ed. She indicated that he sit and poured him a cup, then one for herself and then she sat. The pair was silent a moment and then he said, "Tell me what the agents told you."

For the next forty minutes, Bobby and Maeve shared their notification tales. While Bobby had been forceful in his reaction to learning of his wife's abduction, Maeve had responded fearfully; neither had had a contact since the initial meeting.

"Do you have a plan?" Maeve asked him.

Bobby was silent a moment and replied sadly, "No, nothing. I tried investigating online and got nowhere." Suddenly he looked up, "Have you been in Malcolm's office at the university?"

"No. Why?"

"Do you have a key?"

"No, the university is quite strict about keys being out and about. Why do you want to get into his office? What are you looking for?"

"I don't know. I tried to get into Gleason's office, but that Gestapo witch out front wouldn't let me in. Then, she sent me to the Dean's office but he's out with a heart attack and the Associate Dean is away at a conference." He watched Maeve look toward the door and smile.

"There's my big boy!" Angus stood in the doorway to the kitchen, rubbing his left eye. "Come here, Gussie. I want you to meet a friend of Daddy's."

Bobby turned and saw a blond version of the child his mother had described. The toddler bore a mass of wheat-coloured curls upon his head. He stood shyly looking from his mother to the stranger sitting in his daddy's chair.

"Hi Angus," Bobby smiled and said softly, waggling his fingers at the child in greeting.

"Gus, did you go potty?" The boy just stared at Bobby. "Excuse me whilst I attend to him." Maeve rose and crossed to the child who raised his arms to be carried. "Come now, be a big boy and walk." She took his hand and the pair headed back down the hallway.

Bobby's mind flashed to a time when his mother had taken him by the hand just as Maeve had taken her son's hand. His mother was a good, loving mother before her illness. Even afterward, in her lucid moments, she was a good mother. Bobby worried about her, sensing her days were few. His eyes welled and he set his arm along the top edge of the chair back and squeezed his eyes with his fingers.

The Conway kitchen was cozy and homey. He looked at the booster chair sitting against the wall, the sippy cup on the counter, the zippered snack bag of animal crackers on the table. He imagined himself and Gleason having a house, and a child. This is what I've always wanted, he thought – a normal, healthy wife in a house with children. God, he missed Gleason. He hitched a sob and finished his coffee.

Bobby stood and set his cup in the sink. He was standing, looking out the window at the swing set in the backyard when Maeve returned with her son in her arms.

"I should be going," he said.

She said nothing, not wanting him to leave; it was so nice to have someone to talk with. Maeve, like Gleason, had no real friends.

"All right. Gus, say 'bye-bye' to Mr. Goren." The child spun his head away and laid it upon her shoulder, setting his thumb in his mouth. Maeve stroked his back and rocked.

"He's a good looking boy," Bobby said with a smile.

Maeve reddened a bit and said, "Thank you; he's the spitting image of his father. He has regressed so, however." Bobby saw her eyes fill and he set a hand on her upper arm.

"They will come back, Maeve. Soon, I promise."

She nodded and they turned, Bobby following her to the door. He stepped onto the porch, turned and said, "I'll call you before I leave tomorrow. Do you need anything now? Can I do anything for you?"

She looked at this kind, strong man and whispered, "Find his father."

Bobby nodded and left.

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Again, he drove aimlessly, his mind empty. It was nearly one and he was starving so he headed for the same restaurant he ate at yesterday. Afterward, Bobby drove around again and found himself pulling into the parking lot of the grocery Gleason and he frequented. He walked in and headed for the liquor department.

Bobby started drinking at four and spent the evening sitting in the darkening apartment finishing nearly the whole bottle of scotch. Hours later, he woke on the sofa having to pee and then made his way to the bed. Bobby fell across it and was immediately asleep.

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"Gleason you're going to have to push hard this time," the doctor said, looking up from where he sat on a stool at the foot of the labour bed.

"Honey push," Bobby told her, wiping her forehead with his hand.

Gleason was exhausted after ten hours of hard labour. "I, I don't think I can do this," she panted and then growled and grimaced as another powerful contraction took hold.

"Push! Come on, Gleason, push. Push hard, don't stop!" the doctor coaxed her.

"Oh, gaw-aw-awd!" she cried and tried to push, her head and shoulders curling up off the bed. Gleason squeezed Bobby's hand until he thought it would break. The contraction ended and Gleason fell back against the bed, panting and gasping.

"I laboured like that with you, Bobby," his mother said from the corner. When did she get here? "Frank was easy, he was nice and slim, still is. Even for a first delivery, he was easy. Not you, though, you were so big, you still are. You laid like a cork stuck inside me for hours. _Hours_! I can't tell you how long it took you to be born. You tore me apart. Jesus, I suffered with you."

Gleason's cry pulled his attention back to his wife as another contraction gripped her. "Glea–, Honey push."

She sucked great gulps of air and whispered, "I, I canna –," and her head lolled to one side, her hand limp around his.

"Honey?!"

"Son-of-a-bitch! Call a code! Someone start compressions! We have to take this baby now! Move!"

Bobby backed away, watching the people work to save his wife and baby. Suddenly his mother was at his side with her arms crossed, "She's going to die, you know. She and this baby of yours, they're both going to die. You'll always be alone, Bobby. Always be alone."

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Bobby shot awake, gasping and crying. Gleason! She was in labour, and having a hard time, and his mother was there . . . the dream tattered and blew away.

Bobby's sobs slowed. God, his head pounded and he felt nauseous. Suddenly, he bolted for the toilet.

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Sunday Midday

September 9

He drove from JFK straight to Carmel Ridge. His mother lay asleep in her bed, breathing through the cannula in her nose.

"Mr. Goren, Dr. Shinto would like to see you. I'll tell him you are here," the nurse told him as she stepped to his side.

Bobby nodded to her and dragged over the chair. His mother did not look good at all.

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	8. Chapter 8

8

Intentional End

Chapter 8

Monday Morning

September 11

Christian sat on the floor beside the drapes, watching the two nurses tend to his sleeping Gramma. The little boy waited, he knew that it wouldn't be long.

"I don't know what happened; she seemed to be talking with her son, the tall one, just last night; he was here for more than an hour," the aide told the nurse.

"What about during the night?"

"Nothing, she slept straight through."

"Well, let's watch her today. Try to wake her and get her fed and moving. And watch her numbers."

The nurse nodded and prepared to wake Bobby's mother.

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Dark crescent moons hung under Bobby's eyes and his temper seemed to be creeping back. He was distracted and irritable, coming in late and leaving early. Both Eames and Deakins treated him with kid gloves. He had learned nothing about where Gleason – and Malcolm, apparently – might be. They had been missing for nearly two weeks.

He had visited his mother last night and she seemed weaker, thinner, and her colour wasn't good, a grey cast had made its way into her skin. Dr. Shinto assured him her increased frailty of body and mind was the result of her age. But Bobby thought something else was afoot as his mother was only seventy-eight, too young to be so afflicted. He feared her decline was precipitated by the last nasty argument that had erupted between them a few weeks ago. God, she could make him crazy and hated to lose it with her. He would see her again this evening.

"There's nothing here. We need to call the Brazilian authorities," he said, slamming shut the top folder.

"Bobby! I called last week and spoke with them again Friday. They're looking for the victim's wife, but have found nothing so far." She stared at her partner and worried about him.

They were preparing to interview the brother of a suspected accomplice in the murder of the pilot. "Do you have the photos?" Eames continued.

"I have them."

"Detective, your ten-thirty interview is in IR three," the assistant told Eames.

"Thanks," she answered and the pair walked to Interview Room Three.

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"She's not good. You better call her sons," Dr. Shinto said sadly, closing Mrs. Goren's chart. He sighed heavily as he hated this part of his work, this part of life.

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Bobby's cell rang, "Sorry," he checked the number, excused himself and stepped into the hall, leaving Eames to continue the interview. "Hello? . . . What do you mean? . . . Jesus. Yes, yes, I'm on my way. . . . You'll call Frank? . . . Yeah, thanks."

Bobby stared a moment and headed to Deakins' office, knocked on the open door and said, "Uh, it's my mother. She's, she's not good. The Center said I should go. I need to go."

Deakins stood and came around his desk. "Take Eames with you."

"No, uh, no. I, I need to go."

"Bobby, sit down a minute," he said with a hand on Bobby's arm, "Come here, sit down." Bobby allowed himself to sit and then Deakins stepped to the door, "Perkins." The detective looked up and moved to his boss. "Eames is in IR three, tell her to end the interview and come here." Perkins nodded and left. Good God, how much more can this man take, Deakins wondered.

Within a minute, Eames entered the Captain's office. Deakins told her to close the door and then said, "I want you to drive Bobby to Carmel Ridge. His mom is not good; they called him to come now."

Alex nodded and looked at her partner. He sat and stared ahead, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. "Shall I call Gleason?"

"Uh, Gleason's going to be out of the picture for several weeks."

Alex's eyes opened wide in wonderment and Deakins held up his hand and shook his head. "I can't say anything and neither can he."

"Ok," she answered simply and stepped to Bobby, reaching for him, "Come on, Bobby, let's go."

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Christian watched his gramma breathe, she was sweaty and frightened. The nurse wiped his gramma's forehead and spoke gentle, calming words.

"My, my . . . son . . . where's my . . . son?" Mrs. Goren whispered, pulling at the cannula.

"He's coming, Dear, he's coming. We're trying to reach your other son. Rest now, just rest." The nurse tried to reinsert the nosepiece, gently avoiding Mrs. Goren's weak swats.

"Fra- . . . where's . . . Frank? Fra-?" she gasped, her agitation increasing.

The nurse lifted the phone and called Dr. Shinto, requesting permission to give the dying woman a sedative.

"Thanks," she said after the return call and she filled a syringe. "Here you are, Dear. This will calm you."

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"Gramma!" he called, running toward her, "Gramma!"

Frances Goren turned at the sound of her name and saw the little boy run toward her. She bent with arms outstretched and caught the three-year-old, swinging him around as though she was forty years younger. "Oh, my Sweet Pea, my Sweet Pea, here you are," she exclaimed, setting down the child and taking his hand.

"Come on, Gramma, come on! Let's go!"

"Where? Where are we going?"

"Over here, come on!"

"All right, all right; let's go."

The path led uphill a bit and Frances looked around. What a lovely place, she thought. Wildflowers filled the field to her right; a stone wall lined the far end. To her left stretched a wheat field with a lush forest below it. Christian led his grandmother up the path; from the crest, far off, she saw a small crowd of people. A man came forward and she faintly heard, "Frannie!"

"Bert?" she wondered, "Bert, is that you?" As she got closer she saw that it _was_ her husband, Bert; and then Frances saw Mark, her former lover, and her mother! All of them, they had all come to welcome her!

"Christian? Where, where are we? What is this place?"

"Gramma, we're in Heaven," the little boy answered, looking up at his Gramma.

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The pager vibrated again on his belt and Dr. Shinto removed it, knowing what it was before he read it – Bobby Goren's mother had died.

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The SUV traveled swiftly north on its way to the Carmel Ridge Center. Bobby sat quietly. He'd pulled his phone from his pocket twice, dialing, listening and snapping it shut with a sigh.

Eames glanced over at her partner and wondered what was going on. The Captain's terse comment about Gleason had startled her – where would Gleason be if she were 'out of the picture for several weeks?' What is going on?

So much was happening all at once – that bastard Sledge leaving for DC and the FBI; Logan's partner, Wheeler, left a week ago; Gleason's gone and now Bobby's mother. Man, when it rains. . .

Eames parked and the two exited the vehicle. Neither had said a word yet.

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The desk nurse saw Bobby and another woman exit the elevators. "Mr. Goren! Mr. Goren, please, Dr. Shinto would like to speak with you. This way, please," the nurse called, coming around the desk.

"I want to see my mother," he said and continued toward the corridor.

Eames put a hand on his arm and said softly, "Let's talk with the doctor first. Come on, Bobby."

He stopped again and looked down at his tiny partner, wanting to see his mom, but knowing Alex was right.

"Ah, Mr. Goren, thank you for coming so quickly. Please, let us speak in my office. This way," Dr. Shinto said, rushing from the opposite corridor.

Eames and Bobby followed the good doctor through a door and each took a seat, the doctor leaning against the front of his desk.

"Uh, Dr. Shinto, this is my partner Detective Alex Eames. Dr. Shinto is my mother's physician," Bobby said, introducing them. The doctor and Eames nodded to each other.

"How is my mother? I want to see her."

"Mr. Goren, your mother passed away shortly after you were called. I am very sorry."

Bobby stared at the doctor and Eames' hand went to her lips. She looked at her partner and saw no reaction.

Finally, Bobby looked away, shifted in the chair, cleared his throat and asked, "She's, she's gone? She died? My mother is dead?"

"I am sorry," the doctor said with genuine sorrow.

It was Bobby's turn to put fingers to lips. "Uh, what, what happened? She's been failing for the past couple weeks. What happened?"

"We are not certain. Forgive me, but I must ask, do you want an autopsy done?"

"I want to see her." Bobby stood and walked away. Eames looked at the doctor and he nodded. She followed Bobby to his mother's room and remained at the door as he walked slowly to the bed; she looked like she was asleep.

"Mom?" he whispered.

A nurse stepped beside Eames and then entered the room, moving a chair to the side of the bed, putting a hand on Bobby's arm. He hitched a sob and then sank heavily into the chair. The nurse lowered the bed rail and Bobby took his mother's frail, limp, cool hand in his. "Mom?" he whispered again and then he cried.

Eames turned away and fought tears of her own. She needed to call the Captain.

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"Captain, it's Alex. Bobby's mother died before we got here."

"Oh, Christ. How is he?"

"He's, uh, he's, he's in her room now."

"Ok. Gee. Listen, stay with him and take him home. Stay with him, Alex. Then, then keep me posted. Do whatever you need to do to help him."

"Certainly," she whispered, not trusting her voice.

Alex Eames clicked shut her phone, slipped it into her pocket and then entered Mrs. Goren's room.

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	9. Chapter 9

52

Intentional End

Chapter 9

September 12

Wednesday

The next day, Bobby returned to Carmel Ridge to collect his mother's things; everything fit into one box. From there, he went to the funeral home to make the arrangements; and then, he went home.

Bobby set the box of his mother's belongings on the sofa and removed the two photo albums. He sat back and looked at each picture in the older album, looking at members of his parents' families. He recognized his grandmother and Aunt Audrey on his mother's side and his father's parents and Aunt Nadine and Uncle Paul, his father's sister and her husband. His mother was a beautiful woman and his father a good-looking man when they were young; and they both looked happy.

He found two photos of Uncle Mark – one in an Army uniform and one with his arm around his mother, she was looking up at him, smiling, a hand on his chest. Frank had told Bobby about 'Uncle Mark.' His mother had gotten very upset when Bobby had asked her about him and Bobby now realized that that seemed to be the beginning of her physical decline.

The second album contained photos of Frank and him as babies and toddlers, children and young adults. Memories flooded back as Bobby examined school pictures and the handful of Christmases and family events photos when he was little. The few pictures after he was seven indicated the beginning of his mother's illness; and not one showed any joy. A few photos of Bobby's army days and both boys' university graduations filled the end of the album. No pictures came after that; the last six pages were empty. He removed the photo of him and Frank when they were little from the frame that his mother kept on the dresser in her room at home and at Carmel Ridge. He slid it into the back of the second photo album and placed both albums on the bottom shelf of the bookcase.

He set the box of lavender bath powder on Gleason's dresser, folded the wrap and woolen throw, gifts from their honeymoon, and set them on the shelf in the bedroom closet. Then, he sat in his chair and read each of the children's books he had purchased for Christian, the invisible little boy his mother talked to.

Bobby's mind raced with memories of his mother reading to Frank and him when they were little, one on each side of her lap, her arm always around Frank, never around him. He imagined her reading to the little boy; and, he pictured himself and Gleason reading to their own child. He missed his mother and he missed his wife; and he knew he would miss Christian. Bobby sat in his chair and cried aloud.

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That evening, Bobby called his friend, Neil Isakson, an old Army buddy; they had worked CIU together. At the end of their tours, EIOD, the Elite Intelligence Operations Division, an obscure government investigative unit, had recruited both of them. Neil joined up but Bobby felt obligated to go home and look after his mother. They stayed in touch, however, even after Neil left government employ and became a renegade biker. Neil still had 'connections' and Bobby asked to meet with him to talk about looking for Gleason. But, when he explained to Neil about Gleason being taken, Neil said he couldn't help.

"What do you mean, you can't help me?" Bobby asked.

"Look, man, let it go. You do not want to fool with this," Neil replied.

Bobby didn't know what to think. "Neil, you have to help me."

"I'm sorry, Bobby. I don't want to get involved. Leave this alone; they're going to know you're trying to find her. You do not want to engage these people. You need to just wait for her to come home."

"At least tell me what is going on. Who are they? They're not FBI are they?"

"I am telling you, man, drop it. You are only going to make it bad for her."

"What do you know about this? What are you afraid of?"

Bobby listened to his friend breathe and knew Neil was considering, "Neil?"

"Man . . . I am telling you – leave-it-alone; she'll be back when she's done. Do not pursue this."

Neither spoke for a long minute and then Bobby said reluctantly, "Ok. I'll talk to you. Bye." He sat with the phone in his hand and was lost. What the hell is going on, he wondered. He was surprised that Neil, of all people, could not – would not – help him.

Bobby sat for an hour and then got the bottle of scotch and a glass.

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September 13

Late Thursday Evening

The funeral that afternoon was small – Bobby, Frank, Lewis, Lewis's mom, Deakins and Eames made up the group. Only Frank went back to Bobby's apartment after leaving the cemetery. The brothers had a huge argument about finances, Frank was certain their mother had money and Bobby knew she didn't.

After two beers each and much shouting between them, Frank stormed out and Bobby fell asleep across the bed. Several hours later, he woke up and opened the bottle of scotch. The American government had kidnapped his wife, his mother was dead and his brother was an ass hole; he planned to finish the bottle. And he had another.

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September 14

Early Friday Morning

"Hullo?"

"I been callin' and callin' you. I thought mebbee you were out somewhere."

"Bobby," she said with resignation. "Are you ok?"

"I think I'm drunk."

"Where are you?"

"I'm home."

She didn't know what to say.

"Aless, you there?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"Whachew doin'?"

"I was sleeping, Bobby; it's two-thirty in the morning."

"Iss two-thirty? Really? Huh. Hey, can you come over? I, I don't want to be alone 'cause I have 'nother bottle of scotch and I don't want to open it. I mean I want to open it, but I'm not so good with scotch, so I might open it. I know I shouldn't, I mean I don't want to, but I might. I prob'ly will, but I shouldn't. You commin' over?"

Eames sighed. She knew she should go, but didn't want to, not really; but, she knew she would. "Ok, give me half an hour."

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Alex pressed the buzzer a fourth time and leaned on it. Goddamn him, he fell asleep, she thought. Finally, the door buzzed and she climbed to the third floor; the door to his apartment stood open and she entered.

Bobby shuffled down the hall toward the living room, bare foot and bare chested, wearing nothing but flannel sleep pants. His body stunned Eames – she knew he was built, but had no idea _that_ filled out his dress shirts and suits. Dear God!

"Hey, thanks for commin' over. You wanna drink?"

"Uh, no, thanks." Eames had to look away and then said, "Bobby, go put on a shirt, ok?"

"Huh?" He looked down at his chest and set his left hand upon it, running it up and down, "Oh, ok, yeah, I should, sorry. Gimme minute." Bobby held up one finger then turned and wavered back down the hall, dragging one hand along the wall.

Eames went into the kitchen and saw that he had, indeed, opened the other bottle of scotch; the first one lay empty in the sink. She replaced the cap on the fresh one, set it in the cabinet under the sink, and prepared a pot of coffee. Then she dumped the glass of scotch sitting on the table into the sink.

"You wanna drink?" Bobby asked again as he returned, leaning precariously to the left, wearing a wrinkled, inside-out green tee shirt and loose fitting jeans with no belt. "Hey, where's 'at bottle? I'm sure I opened thuther bottle. You see it anywhere? I had a glass here somewhere, too," he slurred, a hand on the back of the chair to steady himself as he turned to look into the living room.

"Bobby sit down. Have you eaten today at all?" Eames opened the refrigerator and found, surprisingly, a nice selection of deli meats, cheeses and a big bowl of shell salad. "Here, let me make you a sandwich. You need to eat."

"Yeah, that would be good. You want some? Help yourself. Ted and Becky 'cross the hall brought over some stuff when they saw Mom's 'bituary in the paper. They're good people." Bobby sat with his forearms on the table, head hanging down, words slurring.

Eames set to the task of making him two nice, thick sandwiches and scooped a big dish of salad for him. The coffee finished and she poured them each a mug. Bobby dug in with gusto. She sat across from him and watched him eat. Neither said anything.

"Thississ good, thanks," Bobby said around a mouthful. "You sure you don't want anything?"

Eames shook her head and smiled at him. She wondered if he had shaved for the funeral because right now, he had the start of a real beard. His hair was mussed, showing what his hair was really like – she had no idea it was so curly. He is one good-looking man, she thought, and Gleason is one lucky woman. Speaking of whom. . .

"What did the captain mean when he said Gleason would be 'out of the picture' for a while? Is everything ok?" It was odd that Bobby buried his mother without his wife at his side.

He was about to take another bite but he shut his eyes and he set down his sandwich, wiping his mouth with his fingers. He sat for a moment and then said sadly, "She's, uh, the government, she . . . I, I'm not supposed to talk about it." He took another bite and didn't look at Eames.

'Immigration' was the first thing to enter Eames' mind; but Gleason had become an American citizen weeks ago – immigration should be a non-issue now.

Bobby finished the first sandwich, ate a few bites of salad, and sat back. He seemed to be sobering up.

"Are you finished?" Eames asked.

"Yeah, thanks. I guess I needed to eat something. I shouldn't drink like that."

Eames stood and removed his plate and the salad. "Well, if anyone had a reason to drink, you're it."

Bobby nodded and sat silently. Eames wrapped up the other sandwich, returned the uneaten portion of salad to the big bowl, set both in the fridge, washed up the dishes and refilled their mugs.

"They won't tell me where she is or what she's doing. I can't even investigate. Even Deakins warned me to let things run its course," Bobby said as Eames returned to her chair.

"Who's 'they'?"

"G-men. Feds. Eff-Bee-Eye," he said sardonically. "The government. Representatives of Big Brother. Big shot federal agents. Them."

"What did they tell you?"

Bobby considered for a moment and then began, "Two weeks ago an agent from the FBI, Wycoff . . ." and he told her everything.

"So, you have no idea where she is or, what this artifact is?" He shook his head and looked at his hands in his lap. "Bobby, she could be anywhere on the planet."

"I know, I know!" He stood, taking his mug, and moved to the living room, sitting in his chair, setting his mug on the short bookcase beside him.

Eames moved to the sofa with her coffee. They sat quietly for several minutes and then Bobby asked, "Have you talked with Sledge?"

Eames sat back and pulled up her legs, wrapping her hands around her mug. "Not since he left. The partners sat quietly again and then Eames said, "Anyway, I've been seeing Peter from the one-seven. You remember him –."

"Yeah, yeah. Is he nice to you?"

Eames smiled and said, "He's sweet. He reminds me of my little brother."

Bobby smiled and nodded. Tall men usually surrounded Eames and this Peter Something was not tall.

"He gave me this necklace for our 'three-month' anniversary." She held out the tiny heart on the fine chain around her neck.

Bobby smiled and nodded again. Eames yawned and slid down on the sofa, stretching out. "How's Frank taking your mom's passing?" she asked. "He looked pretty good at the funeral." Eames had only seen Bobby's brother once, last winter in a coffee line for the homeless outside a church where she and Bobby were investigating the murder of the preacher's wife. There was Frank, right outside, in line for free coffee.

Bobby groaned and said, "My brother is an idiot – a selfish, unfeeling idiot. He'll be gone for awhile now that he knows Mom had no money."

They sat quietly and first one and then the other fell asleep.

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September 14

Friday Morning

"Eames, wake up!" God, his head pounded. "Eames!" Bobby shook her gently and she roused.

"Huh? What--? Bobby! Jesus, what time is it?"

"The captain just called. It's after nine, get up."

"Shit! I'm supposed to be interviewing the dead pilot's CO right now. Fuck!"

"Look, can you go in wearing that?" The night before, Eames had thrown on jeans and an old sweater over a tee shirt with nothing underneath. Her hair was mussed and she needed a shower.

"I suppose so. Do you have an extra toothbrush? Shit!"

"Yeah, yeah, here," Bobby led her to the bathroom and got her one of the toothbrushes he and Gleason had taken from the Waldorf after their wedding night. He also got her a fresh washcloth and towel. "Here, use Gleason's stuff if you want. Help yourself. Do you want me to call the Captain back?"

"No, I'll call him. Thanks, Bobby."

With that, Bobby went to the kitchen and made a fresh pot of coffee. His head pounded, but he was better than he would have been had Eames not come over and sobered him up.

He ran his hand over his chin and felt beard. Gleason likes my beard, he thought, eyes filling. His mother never liked facial hair; she said it reminded her of derelicts. He squeezed his eyes and sniffed – he missed his mom and worried about his wife.

Eames entered the kitchen having brushed her teeth and hair and washed her face.

"My phone is dead so I had to use the phone in the bedroom to call Deakins. He's pissed. He said he tried to call me, but – my phone is dead. He's been stalling the CO. I have to go. Are you going to be ok?"

"Yeah, Eames, yeah. Thanks for coming over last night. I'm, I'm sorry about making you late."

"It's ok. I have to go. I'll call you later."

"Yeah, go."

Eames left and Bobby wandered toward the bedroom.

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	10. Chapter 10

7

Intentional End

Chapter 10

Monday Afternoon  
September 17

"Goren," Deakins called from his office door.

"Shut the door," Deakins leaned against his desk and crossed his arms. "Have a seat."

Bobby sat slouched back with his fingers tented in front of his lips and looked at his boss, waiting.

"Have you heard from Gleason?" Deakins asked.

Bobby shook his head.

"Have you done anything to find out where she is?"

Again, Bobby shook his head.

"Are you worried?"

"What do you think?" He wiped his eyes with the fingers of his left hand, sat up and straightened the crease in his trousers. He did not want to look at his boss.

"Have you talked with anyone at the University? Do they know where she is?"

"Why are you asking me this? Have you heard something? Do you know something?"

Deakins straightened and went to sit behind his desk and said nothing.

"Look, I have work to do. I want to keep busy. Are we done here?" Bobby stood and turned, reaching for the door.

"Sit down."

"What?"

"I said sit down." Deakins looked up at the other man.

Bobby did not recognize the man looking at him. He returned to the chair he had just vacated and asked, "What's going on?"

Deakins hesitated and seemed to struggle with what he had to say next. He rubbed his forehead then said, "Bobby, you have to stop looking for her. She'll be back when her work is done. Stop looking." The men stared at each other, then Deakins continued, "You've illegally used department access codes to search classified government files. And you did it from home! Are you completely out of your mind?"

Bobby was stunned. He had been very careful; no one knew he was looking, or so he thought. He spent the entire weekend online trying to find out anything he could about where Gleason might be, who had taken her, and had gotten nowhere. He even called two other friends who knew things and had helped Bobby in the past. But, as with Neil, they both refused to help. It seemed as though a layer of knowledge about the government existed to which Bobby was not privy. "How do you know this?"

Deakins closed his eyes and said softly, "They're watching."

Bobby stared at his boss, "Who is watching? What do you mean?"

"I shouldn't even be speaking to you about this. Just stop, whatever you are doing, stop."

Bobby was on his feet. "You know something, don't you? Tell me what you know! Where is she? Jesus, you have to tell me what you know." He began to pace, arms flailing, "Captain, I just lost my mother; I don't want to lose my wife, too." Bobby pleaded with his boss, got nothing and then his temper flared and he shouted, "Where is she? Tell me, goddamn it!"

Deakins was on his feet, "Shut up! Bobby, listen to me. She will be home when her work is done. This is out of anyone's control. Just be patient. Gleason is fine, she will return."

The pair stood, staring at each other, then Deakins said, "I want you to see Dr. Stephens again. I'll get you an appointment for this week."

"I don't need to see a shrink. I need to find Gleason," Bobby replied darkly.

"You listen to me, you _are_ going to see Dr. Stephens and you are going to stop looking for Gleason. I swear to you, Bobby, I'm doing this for your own good and Gleason's; you have to stop looking for her."

Bobby wiped his face with his hands, shuddered a huge sigh and returned to his desk.

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September 17-21

Monday - Friday

Bobby grew more desperate as the days passed. He appeared to be losing weight; a dark circle hung under each eye, and his colour was off. He had stopped shaving every morning. Both Eames and Deakins knew he was drinking again.

He and Maeve spoke once since his visit. Neither knew anything new but they took comfort in each other's worry, Maeve more so than Bobby. Knowing that he was but a phone call away, and that he was trying to find her husband and his wife, gave her an abiding sense of security.

Deakins did get Bobby an appointment with Dr. Stephens, which he refused to keep. The captain and the psychiatrist discussed what was happening to him, but she could offer nothing that might help. She did say, however, that knowing Bobby from his previous sessions, she thought he would agree to see her again when he felt he needed to.

The dead pilot's case stalled as Brazil would not extradite the pilot's wife and no other suspects surfaced. In the meantime, Bobby and Eames provided an assist with a ring of passport forgers that provided a tremendous diversion for him. Eames and Peter seemed to be getting along. And no one had heard from Sledge.

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Tuesday

September 25

"Hello?"

"Maeve, it's Bobby Goren." He caught the caution in her tone.

"Yes?"

"Is everything all right?" He heard her hesitation.

"Yes."

He knew something had happened, he could hear it in her voice. "What's happened? Has someone spoken to you?"

"Bobby, we should not speak again. Thank you for all that you have done, but –."

He shut his eyes tight and breathed deeply, "Maeve, is Malcolm back?" Her silence marked her confirmation. "Maeve?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"When, when did he get back?"

"I can't . . ."

"Please, tell me when he got back."

"Four days ago."

What! Why . . .? "How? Did he just show up? How did he come back?"

"I, I don't want to talk to you anymore. I can't talk to you."

"Maeve, tell me – how did Malcolm get back? Did they drop him off? "

"I'm sorry, I cannot talk to you. Don't call again." Both were silent for a minute and then Maeve whispered, "They watch and they listen," and she hung up.

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Wednesday and Thursday

September 26 and 27

Bobby worked the dead pilot and the forged passport cases like a crazy man. He drove Eames nuts pursuing leads, interrogating suspects, interviewing anyone and everyone. He was ruthless with suspects, unrelenting during interviews and generally not very nice about any of it. He was short with everyone, especially Eames.

The pair had gone to interview the fellow who oversaw the day-to-day processing of expedited passport requests. Eames was leading the interview as she usually did while Bobby paced. The manager kept watching Bobby prowl like a caged animal and suggested that Bobby have a seat, as he was making the guy nervous. For whatever reason, this comment sent Bobby into a tirade about Federal employees being slovenly, overpaid idiots who were expert at only one thing – hiding the truth from honest, tax-paying, law-abiding citizens.

Eames was embarrassed and then irate. She apologized for her partner's less-than-professional behaviour and excused herself and him. Bobby strode ahead of her to the car. Inside the vehicle, she let him have it with both barrels and he gave it right back to her. They had never argued like that before.

Once in the deck at One Police Plaza, Eames parked the department SUV and turned to speak to Bobby, wanting to discuss what had happened, but he stepped from the vehicle and headed toward his own SUV. She watched him use his remote to open the car, get in and drive away.

It was obvious he was at the end of his rope. He was drinking, not sleeping, not eating and wound tighter than a spring.

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September 28 – 30

Friday - Sunday

Bobby called off the next day and spent the weekend drinking. He sat passed out in his chair when Estella showed up to clean on Saturday morning. She roused him and he screamed at her to leave. Estella fled in tears.

He thought he was losing his mind.

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Monday

October 1

Bobby was two hours late to work and he looked like hell. Eames ignored him when he dropped into his chair across from her.

"Alex," he started, somewhat contritely.

She got up and left.

He watched her walk away and rubbed both hands over his face. Then, he picked up the pink message slips sitting on his desk and read through them – no one he particularly wanted to speak with. He glanced at the boss through the glass wall and saw Deakins standing talking with someone; he couldn't see who as the man had his back to Bobby.

Deakins' eyes slid past the man and made contact and Bobby knew he was in deep shit. He was getting coffee when the fellow in Deakins' office left; it was that agent, Wycoff.

Deakins was waiting at Bobby's desk when he returned, cup to lips. "Bobby, I need to see you."

He set the cup on his desk, followed his boss into the office, and sat. Deakins shut the door and stood in front of his best detective, arms crossed.

"You are this close to a suspension," he leveled darkly.

Bobby looked down and away, moving his fingers to his lips.

"How many times have you been told to stop looking for Gleason? For chrissakes, Bobby, you used department access codes! You have abused any leniency you were due following your mother's passing. The Passport Office has filed a complaint against you and this department because of your outburst last week." Deakins moved to the chair beside Bobby. "Upstairs is getting tired of your escapades."

Bobby shot to his feet, "_Escapades_! Is that what you think this is? Escapades?" He turned and ran both hands over his head and down his neck. "Jesus Christ, I cannot believe this. My wife was abducted, I'm trying to find her and you tell me I'm looking at a suspension. What the fuck do you expect me to do? Huh? Sit on my ass and wait for her to be delivered back to me?" Bobby was loud and out of control.

Deakins watched Bobby stride around the room, only imagining what Bobby was going through; he didn't know if he would have acted any differently. Bobby paced with hands at his ears, elbows out. Finally, he stopped, put his hands over his face, stood quietly and then turned, "I just want her back. I'm going out of my mind." He continued, "I want her back. Help me. Help me find her."

Deakins stood and stepped to him, putting his hands on Bobby's upper arms. "I cannot help you. No one is going to help you find her. She will be back. Leave it alone."

Bobby looked at his boss and never felt so alone. He returned to his desk. He cleaned it off and left.

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	11. Chapter 11

7

Intentional End

Chapter 11

Tuesday Midmorning

October 9

Bobby's cell rang; he pulled it, checked the number, didn't recognize it and flipped it open, "Goren." Silence. "Hello?" Silence. "Gleason?" Slowly Bobby stood. Eames watched him with wide eyes, cup stalled midway to her lips.

"Bobby?" her voice was a whisper.

He began to pace in a tight circle, right hand to his head. "Honey, Jesus, Gleason – where are you? Are you ok?" Silence. "Gleason? Where are you? Talk to me! Gleason!"

"I want to go home." He could barely hear her.

"Where are you?" Silence. "Gleason, where are you?" Silence. "Tell me where you are. Gleason?"

"Evanston," her voice quivered.

"All right. Stay there; understand? Stay right there. I'll be there in a few hours." He saw Deakins in his office. "Gleason, are you ok? Honey, are you ok?"

"I want to go home."

He shut his eyes and squeezed them with the fingers of his right hand. "I'll be there in a few hours. Stay there." He listened to the silence; he couldn't even hear her breathe. "Gleason, I love you."

She clicked off.

Bobby strode into Deakins' office, "Gleason just called. I need to go to Chicago to get her. I'm going to take a few days."

"Is she ok?" he asked, coming around his desk.

"I, I don't know, she sounded frightened."

"Go."

Bobby drove straight to JFK.

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Four hours later

He told the cabbie to wait, jogged to her door and used his key to enter. Gleason was sitting on the upholstered chair, in the gathering darkness. She stood when he entered and fumbled with her wrap. Bobby was so relieved to see her. Thank God! He crossed to her, took her in his arms and felt her stiffen.

"Honey?" Bobby bent and looked into her face. She looked back at him without expression.

"Take me home."

Bobby asked, "Do you have your pills?" She just looked at him so he took her brown leather shoulder bag from her and opened it. Inside he found a full bottle of heart pills; he went into the bathroom, opened the cabinet and slipped her birth control pills into his pocket and stepped around the corner into the bedroom, her throw lay across the foot of the bed. He grabbed it and returned to her in the living room, she had not moved.

He found her cell phone and charger on the kitchen counter – these weren't here a few weeks ago, he thought – and dropped both into her shoulder bag. Then, he took her by the arm and led her to the door. She waited while he locked it behind them and they walked to the cab. Four hours later, Bobby walked her to his car in short term parking and drove home.

Bobby wanted to ask her everything – where had she been, who had taken her, what was she doing, did they take good care of her, what about … Malcolm. He wanted to talk with her, but sensed this was not the time. He kept glancing over at her; she sat staring out the passenger window, clutching her green throw in her lap.

Once in their apartment, Gleason only wanted to take a shower and go to sleep. Bobby made a pot of tea while she showered and laid out her blue nightgown. He went to check on her, pulled back the shower curtain and found her huddled on the tub floor, sobbing.

"Baby, what's wrong?" He shut off the water and grabbed a bath sheet, wrapping it around her. "Stand up, Gleason. Honey, come on, stand up." He helped her stand and she cried into the towel. He wrapped his arms around her. "Gleason, what's wrong? Honey, you're home now. You're home." He felt her shiver and heard her crying slow. He dried her with the ends of the bath sheet and took another towel for her hair. Bobby tried to gather her hair in the towel, but couldn't – she took it from him and wrapped it expertly around her head. She could not stop shaking. Bobby helped her step over the tub and guided her to the bedroom.

Bobby dressed her as one would help a child dress and put her to bed. "I made you tea, do you want a cup?"

She looked at him and he saw her exhaustion. She stared into his soul; he will take care of me, he loves me, he will still love me. "Aye," she whispered. Bobby took her hand, squeezed it and left to fetch her tea.

He was back within two minutes and found her sound asleep, hair still in the towel. He set her tea on the dresser, went to her and gently removed the towel from her head – she never woke. Bobby went to his side of the bed, undressed to his boxers and crawled in beside her, but he didn't touch her.

They slept.

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October 10

Early Wednesday Morning

"Gleason, Honey, wake up! Gleason! Wake up!" Bobby sat bedside her trying to calm her, trying to catch her flailing arms. She was sitting up, crying, shouting.

"Нет, пожалуйста, нет! Не делайте, не делайте этого! Не делайте, пожалуйста!" _No__please__no__Don't, don't do this! Don't, please!_

What? What is she saying? He had no idea she spoke Russian.

"Honey, Gleason!"

Slowly, she woke, sobbing, struggling against him, pushing him away, confused.

"Sweetheart, it's me, Bobby. Gleason, look at me! Honey, look at me, it's me. Gleason!" Finally, he had her forearms and held her still. He looked at her, his face showing all the fear and worry he felt.

She stopped, still sobbing, and searched Bobby's face. "Bobby?" she hitched.

"Honey, Honey. Gleason, are you all right? It was a dream, Sweetheart; it was just a dream. You're here with me. Come here." Bobby took her in his arms and Gleason's body shuddered with sobs. He is so warm, so nice and warm.

Slowly, she calmed and pulled away from him, wiping her nose on the edge of the sheet. She wiped her eyes and sighed with a shudder.

Bobby's hand stayed on her back, rubbing gently, "Do you want to tell me what it was?" he asked softly.

She looked at him sharply and shook her head, "No, no, no, Bobby, no!" She was terrified.

"Ok, ok, you don't have to tell me." He smoothed the hair away from her face. "Do you want anything, how about a drink of water?"

Gleason nodded.

"I'll be right back." He leaned in and softly kissed her forehead and did not miss the subtle flinch, then he left the bed and headed for the kitchen.

Gleason's hands went to her face and covered her eyes. It was so real, so real. That man. Grabbing her hair. Pushing her down. Striking her. No, no, no! Don't think of it. Stop! It did not happen. It did not happen. Nothing happened.

"Here, Sweetheart," Bobby handed her the opened bottle and sat facing her on the bed.

Gleason took the bottle, took a drink and choked, spitting water over the sheet and blanket. She coughed and sucked air, coughing and coughing. Bobby patted her back and took the bottle from her. His face was pained, "Slowly, slowly. There, are you ok?"

Again, slowly, she calmed. She nodded and tried to take the bottle from his hand.

"Here, slowly," he said, holding the bottle as he would for a child.

Gleason finished an easy drink and let go of the bottle. She still had not said anything; she shook all over.

Bobby searched every inch of her face. What happened to her? What would cause this nightmare? "Honey, I didn't know you speak Russian."

She looked at him with such a look of confusion. "What?" she whispered.

"Russian, you were calling out in Russian."

Gleason's gaze left his face and went to her lap. "I don't speak Russian." Suddenly she shuddered and a strong shiver shook her. "I'm, I'm cold. I want to go to sleep, back to sleep."

He looked at her for another long second and then covered her up as she settled. He set the water bottle on the night table and climbed in beside her, then reached back and turned off the light; he glanced at the clock – three twenty-one.

Instinctively he curved around her, wrapping his right arm around her. His fingers strayed to her breast and he stroked once.

"Don't! Don't touch me! Stop!" Gleason said aloud, tensing and pushing away his hand, her breath coming shallow and fast.

Bobby was up on his left elbow, "Honey, what? Gleason, what's wrong? Look at me." He tried to turn her toward him, but she shrugged him off and slid away.

"Just, just . . . don't touch me. Please, don't touch me." She pulled up the sheet and blanket over her shoulder and under her ear.

"Gleason, what happened to you? Did someone hurt you? Gleason?" He put his hand on her shoulder, and felt her tense up. "Ok, ok," he snatched his hand away, holding it away from her palm open.

He lay on his back, staring at the darkness. She was raped! Someone raped her while she was gone. That's why she doesn't want me to touch her. Jesus Christ! She was _raped_!

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October 10

Wednesday

Gleason woke late the next morning. She dressed, washed her face, brushed her teeth and tried to comb out her hair. Bobby found her in the bathroom, in front of the mirror, wincing as she combed out the tangles.

"Good morning," he said, smiling at her in the mirror. He stood behind her, wanting to wrap his arms around her waist, pull her toward him, push against her, kiss her neck, and suck that spot. He wanted to make love to her. Once again, he wanted things to be as they were before. But he did nothing, he stood and watched her groom.

Gleason looked back at him in the mirror; she did not smile and said nothing. She finished combing her hair and braided it into a rope, then wrapped it around her head, pinning it securely.

She turned and moved to step into the hall when Bobby stopped her with his hands on her waist. Gleason looked up into his eyes and said, "Did you make tea?"

He smiled at this simple, normal question, "Yes, Honey, I made a pot of tea. Do you want eggs or cereal, toast?"

"No, just tea," she stepped around him and went the sofa.

Bobby brought her tea and then sat across from her, on the edge of his chair, looking at her. Now, maybe now she would talk with him, tell him everything. "Honey, let's talk about what you were doing."

She looked at him and set the cup on the end table, "I cannot speak of it. My work is done; it is over. I need to get back to my life. I can never speak of it." It was as if she was reciting from a memorized script. Gleason began to shiver and Bobby retrieved her green throw from the bedroom, wrapping it around her shoulders; she sipped the tea and rocked.

For the rest of the day, she was quiet, just sitting and staring. She wouldn't talk. She wouldn't let him touch her. She wouldn't eat. She drank the tea he made and ate a little soup. She was very thin.

Bobby went down to the lobby where he could speak without Gleason hearing him and called Dr. Wendy Fairchild, the women's health psychiatrist at Methodist General. She had spoken with Gleason after the miscarriage. He left his name and number and asked that Dr. Fairchild return his call, then ran back up to the apartment.

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	12. Chapter 12

71

Intentional End

Chapter 12

Wednesday Early Evening

October 10

"Honey, let's go for a walk. We need to get out of here."

Gleason looked at him, sighed heavily and stood. They walked down the block and she let him hold her hand, which was something. Along the way, they passed a shopkeeper yelling at a short, plump woman in the doorway of his bodega.

"Look, lady, I don't got no idea what the fuck you want."

"Я хочу сыр. Сыр!" _I want cheese. Cheese!_

"I don't got nothing of what it is you want. Go somewheres else."

"Вы идиот. Вы тупоумный американский идиот!" _You__idiot__You stupid American idiot!_

Gleason heard the exchange and stopped. "Я говорю английскую язык. Вы хотите?" _I speak English. What do you want?_

The woman stopped and looked up at the tall thin beauty, "Я хочу сыр, справедливый сыр." _I want cheese, just cheese._

Gleason looked at the shopkeeper and said, "She wants cheese. Show her where your cheese is. Be nice to this woman, she's a stranger here." Then to the old woman, Gleason said, "Он покажет вам где сыр. Внимательность взятия." _He will show you where the cheese is. Take care._

The woman reached up her hand and touched Gleason's cheek with her palm, "Вы. Вы хорошая женщина." _Thank you. Thank you, good woman_.

Gleason turned, took Bobby's hand and began to walk. Bobby was stunned by the exchange, "Honey, when did you learn to speak Russian like that?"

She looked at him and said, "Bobby, I don't speak Russian."

"Honey, you do. You just did. With that woman back there," he studied her face. Gleason looked at him without expression.

"No, Bobby, I don't speak Russian. Can we get something to eat?"

Bobby looked at her and said, "Let's go to Nero's." They turned around and headed back.

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Bobby pulled open the door and Gleason entered and went straight to the table where she sat the night Bobby and she made up following the miscarriage. He hung her wrap and his coat, pulled out her chair and then he sat. "Do you know what you want?" he asked.

"I want a sandwich. And hot tea."

"What kind of sandwich?"

"I don't care. Yes, egg salad."

Bobby ordered and he reached for her hands resting on the table and Gleason flinched, but didn't pull away. He wanted to get her to talk about where she was, what she was doing and what had happened to her while she was gone; he was sure she had been raped. In addition, he wanted to tell her about his mother.

"Honey, talk to me. Do you know where you were? What you were doing?"

Immediately, Gleason began to shudder, she pulled her hands from his, they flew to her face and she began to mewl. Bobby took her wrist and gently pulled her hand from her face. She acquiesced and lowered her hands. "Ok, Sweetheart, ok. Let's talk about something else."

"No, no, I cannot talk about anything. Do not make me talk. I cannot talk. No, no, no."

Dear God, what happened to her? The server arrived with their tea and coffee. Gleason took her huge mug and wrapped her hands around it. "I'm so cold. So cold."

"Here, put my jacket around you." He stood and grabbed his jacket, wrapping it over her shoulders. Bobby put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed, and then returned to his seat.

Gleason stared into her mug and Bobby stared at her. Then, she pulled the lapel of his jacket to her nose and sniffed deeply, her eyes closing. "This smells like you." Her eyes opened and she looked at him, "I missed your scent while I was away. I missed you." They stared at each other and Bobby saw a flicker of light. She would be ok. She would be ok. He took her hand again.

"I missed you, too. I love you, Gleason. I love you forever," rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand.

Gleason watched his thumb, "That's what we say, isn't it, 'I love you forever'?" Bobby smiled and nodded. "How long was I gone?"

Bobby didn't understand, how could she not know? "Nearly six weeks."

"I thought so. I looked at the calendar in the kitchen."

They sat quietly, holding hands; Bobby wanted to tell her about his mother's death, but this was not the time. The server brought their sandwiches and Bobby watched as Gleason used her fork to scrape off the egg salad and then pull apart the bread before eating it. They both jumped when Bobby's cell phone rang. He took it from his pocket and flipped it open, not recognizing the number, "Goren."

"This is Dr. Fairchild returning your call."

Bobby's eyes shot to Gleason, and he stood and walked to the door, his back to her. "Doctor, thank you for getting back to me; I, I want to talk with you about my wife, Dr. Gleason Wintermantle. You spoke with her following her miscarriage last year.'

"I remember her."

"She's, she's, I, I think she's been raped or, or something else has happened. She was abducted, gone for nearly six weeks. She's not herself, she's speaking Russian and says she doesn't speak Russian, she's frightened, she won't let me touch her, she . . ."

"Detective, please, slow down, slow down."

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just so worried about her."

"Look, I cannot see her unless she wants to be seen. You cannot make an appointment for her unless she agrees to it. Is she a danger to herself or others? Do you think she needs to be hospitalised?"

"No, no, nothing like that." Bobby was at his wit's end. "Listen, what should I do? Tell me what to do."

"First, you need to speak with her about seeing someone. If she agrees, then you make an appointment. I will need to talk with her to determine what the problem is."

"Should I press her to talk about what happened?"

"No, don't insist in any way. See if she'll agree to an appointment and, if so, call the office."

Bobby wanted more, but said, "All right, Dr. Fairchild. Thank you. "

"Good luck, Detective. Goodbye."

"Thanks, bye." Bobby flipped shut his phone and turned to see Gleason staring at him, eyes wide, hands in her lap. He slipped the phone into his pocket and walked back to the table.

She didn't take her eyes from him, making him feel guilty. Neither spoke; Bobby sipped his coffee – it was cold, and bitter. Gleason continued to stare at him.

"Was that Alex?"

God, he did not want to lie to her, "No, not Alex."

Gleason waited and then whispered, "Was it one of them?"

Bobby stopped mid-sip, his eyes locked onto her, "Who?"

Gleason hesitated, almost spoke, hesitated again and then said, sitting back, "I'm done. Can we go home?"

"Gleason, who is 'them'?" He watched her stand and move to the coat tree behind him. He stood, pulled his money clip from his front pocket, dropped a few bills on the table and turned to take his jacket from her shoulders. He set his jacket on the back of his chair, took her wrap, held it for her and she slipped it on. He turned her to face him, held onto her shoulders and said, "Honey, who is 'them'?"

Her eyes slammed shut, she jerked out of his hands, turned and headed for the door, Bobby grabbed his coat rushed after her. She would not hold his hand on the way home.

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Bobby hung up her wrap and was removing his jacket when, suddenly, Gleason gagged and ran to the bathroom. He heard her vomiting.

"Honey, are you all right?" he asked, taking her arms as she exited the bathroom, bending to look into her face.

She wouldn't look at him and twisted out of his hands. "Leave me alone," she whispered walking to the sofa.

Bobby followed her and watched her sitting on the edge of the sofa, rocking. "Baby, what's wrong?" he asked softly.

Gleason continued to rock, ignoring him.

"Do you want anything?"

She just rocked.

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The time passed slowly. Gleason hadn't moved all evening, she just sat on the sofa and rocked. Bobby went down to the lobby, brought up the newspaper and sat reading when his cell rang, "Goren."

"Mr. Goren, this is Dr. Fairchild's office calling." It was late for a doctor's office to call. "Dr. Fairchild regrets to inform you that she is unable to see the woman – a . . . Gleason Wintermantle, you had called about. Dr. Fairchild asks that you seek another avenue of assistance. Thank you, goodbye."

"What? Wait!" but the line was dead. What the fu-? What is going on? Bobby flipped shut his phone and looked at Gleason.

She stared at him, "Who was that?"

"Uh, no, no one, Honey, it was a wrong number." Bobby stood and crossed to the sofa, sat beside her and saw that she was shivering. He grabbed her green throw from the other end of the sofa, "Here, put this around you. Gleason why are you so cold? Are you sick? Why did you throw up?"

Gleason let him wrap her green throw around her and she looked up at him, "I'm just cold, inside."

He looked at her wanted to put his arm around her, hold her. He wanted to kiss her, touch her breast, run his thumb over her nipple and feel it harden. He wanted to suck the place on her neck where her heart beats. He wanted her to kiss him, let him slide his tongue into her mouth. He wanted her to touch him through his jeans, rub him as she does. He wanted to harden in her hand, feel her stroke him. He wanted his mouth on her breast, suckle her, nibble her nipple. He wanted her to take his penis in her mouth and lick him, suck him. He wanted to feel the moist heat between her legs, smell the wet musk from her place. He wanted to rub her clit with his finger and then slide his finger up into her. He wanted to hear her moan and beg for more. He wanted to push his dick into her slit and pump and pump until she cried out. He wanted come inside her, release into her. This is what he wanted; but instead, he wiped his hands over his face and then stood up, returning to his seat and the paper.

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They sat quietly for another hour. "I have to go back to Evanston on Sunday." This came out of the blue. "I need to get back to teaching my classes on Wednesday. I have responsibilities. I need to get back and prepare." Gleason paused, obviously thinking. "I am the professor of record and need to get back to the job I was hired to do." She said all of this without looking at Bobby; again, it sounded as though she was reciting from memory. Bobby looked at her with worry.

He watched her look at her lap, close her eyes, and then say, "I teach Ancient Dialects on Monday and Wednesday nights, Meiserian Forms on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, with a second class on Wednesday and Friday mornings, and Enculturated Linguistics Tuesday and Thursday afternoons." She looked up at him and said, "It's a big load."

They looked at each other steadily, silently, and then Bobby asked, "Should we notify your department that you are back and will be teaching again next Wednesday?"

Gleason took a deep breath and said, not looking at him, "No, they told the department that I am back. We have nothing to be concerned about."

Bobby felt cold. He desperately wanted to ask who 'they' are.

She sat, looking at her hands and then said, "We should go see your mother early on Sunday."

Bobby looked at her sadly, set the paper beside his chair, moved to her side and said softly, "Honey, Mom died while you were gone."

Gleason turned fully to look at him and searched his face. He watched confusion and sorrow alternate across her face. Slowly, Gleason raised a hand and set it gently on his cheek, "She died?" she asked incredulously. He nodded. "She _died_?"

"Yes, four weeks ago."

He watched his wife struggle to understand. "What happened to her?"

"Her health continued to decline. You remember how poorly she looked each time we visited her."

Gleason looked away, hands in her lap again; she appeared to be straining to remember, her brow furrowed. He watched her put her hands to her face and then say, "I do remember." She turned to him again and said, "I do remember, Bobby. She was thin, very thin and her mind. . ." Gleason stopped and worked to remember again, then continued, ". . . her mind was going." She looked at him and he watched her eyes fill, she hitched a sob and pulled the ends of her throw to her face and then she wailed.

He wrapped his arms around her and together they sobbed.

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	13. Chapter 13

78

Intentional End

Chapter 13

Wednesday Early Evening

October 10

Gleason cried and cried. Bobby tried to console her, but it was as if a damn had burst. She hitched sobs and fell back against the sofa, covering her face in her throw.

"Honey, it's ok. It was her time. Hush; Baby, hush." Bobby dried his eyes on the sleeves of his undershirt and wiped his nose with the hem. "Baby, please." He pulled her up, held her and molded her into him.

Slowly Gleason calmed, pulled away, wiped her face with her throw and looked at him with such pain, clutching the front of his tee shirt. "I am so sorry, Bobby. I am so sorry. I wasn't here. I wasn't here for you; for her. I am so sorry." She continued to hitch sobs and then jolted from the sofa, hand over her mouth – gagging.

He followed her to the bathroom, picking up her throw as it fell from her back on the way down the hall. Gleason bent over the toilet, retching, throwing up nothing as her stomach held nothing to give.

Bobby held her, letting the throw slip to the floor. What is wrong with her? Why is she vomiting? She won't eat. She needs to see a doctor.

Gleason finally stopped retching and slumped against him. He wiped his hand over her forehead, pushing away loose strands of curly red hair. With one hand, he wet a washcloth and wiped her face with it. She took it from him, straightened and rewet it, wiping her face and neck.

"Baby, what's wrong with you? Why do you keep throwing up?"

She looked at him in the mirror and then reached for her toothbrush. She brushed her teeth and then undid her pants, pulled them down and sat on the toilet to pee. He was surprised, as Gleason was modest about such functions. Bobby looked away, and then he stepped into the hallway, picked up her throw, and then entered the bedroom, his hand running down the back of his neck. He heard the toilet flush and turned as she entered.

It was as if nothing had happened, her affect was flat again. Gleason snatched the throw from his hands and moved to her side of the bed. She began to undress and said flatly, "I'm going to bed. Ok?" she asked. Bobby nodded and went to shut off lights and lock the door, his mind spinning.

They slept their second night together, neither touching the other. Bobby lay awake for hours, listening to her breathe, tensing at her whimpers, wanting to touch her, hold her. Eventually, he slept.

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"Mommy?" the child hollered, wandering up the path, looking right and left. "Mom-_mee_!" he called, his face streaked with tears, red and sweaty. "Dad-dee?!" he was so tired and he could not find his mommy and daddy. Christian sat down hard on the gravel path and cried aloud, his tiny left arm across his eyes.

Gleason stood at the stone wall and looked everywhere. She clambered up on and looked up toward the top of the hill. Where is he? Dear God, where is he? "Tian?" she cried, "Chris, where are you?" She felt sick to her stomach.

The child lay down on the rocky path, hitching deep sobs, his nose running into his mouth. He curled up onto his side and slid his left thumb into his mouth; his nose was stuffed and he couldn't breathe, so his hand fell to dirt in front of his face. Tears continued to run from his eyes as he sobbed without crying. They left me here; they don't want me, he thought, they don't want me, and he cried anew.

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Gleason turned over and whimpered; then, a conscious thought registered – she was going to throw up. But, it passed and again she slid into the dream. She whimpered again then called out. Bobby roused and looked over his shoulder at his wife, ready to wake her if need be. Gleason settled and Bobby let himself fall back to sleep.

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"Daddy?" the child hollered, wandering up the path, looking right and left. "Dad-_dee_!" he called, his face streaked with tears, red and sweaty. "Mom-mee?!" he was so tired and he could not find his mommy and daddy. Christian sat down hard on the gravel path and cried aloud, his tiny left arm across his eyes.

Bobby wandered through the trees at the foot of the cornfield, not wanting to think his son had gone into the rows. "Chris! Chris, where are you?" he yelled.

The child lay down upon the rocky path, hitching deep sobs, his nose running into his mouth. He curled up onto his side and slid his left thumb into his mouth; his nose was stuffed and he couldn't breathe, so his hand fell to dirt in front of his face. Tears continued to run from his eyes as he sobbed without crying. They left me here; they don't want me, he thought, they don't want me, and he cried anew.

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Bobby moaned and shifted onto his back, his left arm bending on the pillow, above his head. He breathed heavily and then whined softly. He woke slowly and felt the heavy darkness that always signaled a bad dream. He couldn't remember it and realised he didn't want to. He listened to Gleason breathe slowly, steadily and then looked at the clock, four-eighteen. He knew he would not be able to go back to sleep, so he got up, pulled on his jeans, stopped in the bathroom and then went into the living room.

He sat in his chair in the dark, thinking about Gleason, what might have happened to her. Why is she so nauseous, he wondered. Then, it occurred to him that she might be – no, no. Yet, she had eaten only the bread from her sandwich and she had craved bread when she was pregnant last year. He knew in his heart that she had been raped while she was gone! No, no, no! Bobby felt himself get hot, physically hot and he twisted in his chair. No, she is not pregnant because she has been taking birth control pills since the miscarriage. Right? She's been taking her pills, _right_? Bobby couldn't ever remember seeing her take them; nor did he even know if she had them on their honeymoon. She was taking her birth control pills, he told himself. She's not pregnant. She's not. She can't be.

Eventually, Bobby fell asleep in his chair.

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Thursday Morning

October 11

Gleason woke and knew she was alone in the bed. She rolled onto her back and fought the wave of nausea. Oh God, she felt awful. Where is he? she wondered. Gleason slid her arm up and down Bobby's side of the bed and fought a gag, oh, God. Where is he? Slowly her eyes opened and she thought again, remembering – where is he? That dream. Christian. Where is he?

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Gleason washed her face and refused to throw up, brushing her teeth nearly made her do it. She dressed and found Bobby slumped in his chair, snoring softly. She stood and watched him, a flood of conflicting emotions coursing through her mind. She sighed deeply and entered the kitchen.

Bobby woke and groaned at the pain in his shoulder as he straightened in the chair. He stood, rolled his head and headed into the kitchen. He stood behind her at the kitchen sink, put his hands on her shoulders and kneaded gently. He felt himself move; god, he wanted her. Gleason didn't tense up as she had yesterday.

"Gleason, Honey, turn around," Bobby said softly and gently turned her to face him. Gleason turned and looked up at him; Bobby stared back at her and then tentatively bent to kiss her. He moved his hands to her neck, under her jaw and then softly, softly he placed his lips against hers. She did not flinch, nor did she pull away. His right arm slid to her back and he hugged her closer. She returned his kiss and stepped into him. She felt him rise against her. His tongue slid along her lips and she opened to him, he moaned softly, his breathing quickened. His hand moved down her back to her waist and onto her bottom, squeezing gently, pulling her toward him as he pushed against her.

Then she tensed and pulled back. "No, no, stop, don't! Let me go," her arms sped to his chest and she pushed away, turning. "Don't, don't. Please."

Bobby let go of her and stepped back, breathing hard, bending slightly to ease the erection straining against his jeans. "What, what's wrong? Gleason?"

Gleason stepped away and moved to the living room, arms across her chest, hugging herself. She did not look at Bobby leaning on the edge of the table. His head hung down, eyes squeezed shut tight. He was fuming and did not want to be angry with her. Jesus Christ! He wanted her, it had been so long; he wanted to love her, make love to her. Why won't she? What happened to her?

"Bobby?" she said softly. He did not look up. He could not look at her because he was afraid she would see his anger. She waited. When he did not respond, she went to the closet and took her wrap and then she heard Bobby say, "Don't leave!" It was louder than he intended. He pushed up off the table and came around it.

"Gleason, you have to talk to me. Tell me what happened. Where were you? What were you doing? What happened? Why the fuck won't you let me make love to you?" He was getting angrier; he fought himself for control. Fists clenching and unclenching, he forced himself to breath slowly. He took a step toward her and she turned and pulled open the door. Bobby was on her in a flash, "No! No, you are going nowhere. Goddamn it, Gleason!" He reached over her and leaned on the door, holding it shut. She stopped and cowered.

"Не поражайте меня. Не травмируйте меня! Пожалуйста." _Do not hit me. Do not hurt me! Please._

He took her by the arms and bent to look into her face, "Gleason? Honey, look at me."

"Я не буду идти. Я останусь. Не травмируйте меня. Я сделаю то, что Вы хотите."

_I won't go. I'll stay. Don't hurt me. I'll do what you want._ She would not look at him, continuing to cower.

"Gleason! Gleason, look at me. Look at me!" Bobby shook her gently. "Gleason, Baby, look at me." He shook her again.

Gleason peered up at him and quickly looked away. She wrenched out of his grip and backed against the door. Bobby stared at her and she looked at the floor. "Gleason, can you understand me?"

She looked at him and shouted, "What do you want from me!" She pulled off her wrap and tossed it over the back of Bobby's chair. Then she strode around him, heading for the bedroom.

He followed her and sat beside her on the bed, and then he ran his hand down the back of his neck. "Gleason, I want to know what you did, where you were. I want to know why you speak Russian. I wa --,"

"I don't speak Russian, Bobby! Why do you keep saying that?" she screamed at him. She stood and Bobby stopped her with a hand on her wrist.

"Gleason, sit down. Listen to me." She looked at him and then sat. "Gleason, something is wrong. You are fearful, you, you DO speak Russian; you won't let me touch you. Honey, I, I want to know what happened. Tell me; Gleason, just talk to me."

She looked at him, her eyes closed slowly, and she said, "I cannot talk about anything. Nothing is wrong. It is your imagination. Put it out of your mind." Her eyes opened, she looked at him and then stood, moving past him to the kitchen.

Bobby sat with his elbows on his knees, head down, fingers laced on the back of his neck. After a few minutes, he heard her speaking to someone. He stood and walked to the end of the hall.

"Я не сказал ему ничто. Вы не имеете ничего, чтобы волноваться о. _I__told__him__nothing__You have nothing to worry about. _

"Я понимаю. Оставьте его в покое. Я заставлю его остановиться. _I__understand__Leave him alone. I'll make him stop. _

"Да, да, не волнуйтесь. Это закончится. Я уверен." _Yes__yes__don__'__t__worry__It will end. I am certain. _

Gleason listened for nearly two minutes and then opened her eyes, flipped shut her phone, stood a minute, turned and saw Bobby staring at her as if he didn't know who she was.

"Who were you talking to?" he asked.

She looked at him and he saw her confusion. Gleason looked down at the phone in her hand and then back at him. He took the phone from her and looked at 'Call History,' the last entry showed 'no incoming information,' the time code showed four minutes ago.

"What's happening to me?" she mewled. Bobby set her phone on the end table and took her in his arms.

"It's ok, Sweetheart. It's ok." He rocked her gently.

Surprisingly, Gleason did not cry. It is so good when he holds me, he is so warm, she thought. He will keep me safe; he loves me. He is the police; he will keep them away. Gleason felt confusion – keep whom away? Oh, Bobby feels good, he is strong, he smells good. Gleason moved against him. She felt herself moisten. It has been so long, such a long time.

"Bobby?" she said against his chest.

"Hmmmm?"

"Make love to me."

Bobby pulled away from her, looking down into her eyes. He was confused, he didn't know who she was; he didn't trust what she said.

"Honey, let's just see what happens tonight. Ok?"

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Thursday Evening

Bobby suggested they go to dinner and they walked to Porcini's, two blocks east. They said little on the way and at the table. Bobby watched her eat roll after roll slathered with butter. She picked at her food, eating only the bread; he asked for a second basket and Gleason took home the rest.

Walking home, they held hands; after a block, Bobby put his arm around her. It all seemed so normal and his mind raced with possibilities. If all had been well, they would make love when they got home. But nothing was as it should be.

"Do you want anything?" he asked her, hanging up her wrap and then his jacket.

She walked into the kitchen, took a bottle of water for herself, a beer for him and the tub of butter and set them on the table. She sat and opened the bag of rolls, selected one and opened the butter, "Would you get me a knife, please?" she said as Bobby entered.

Bobby came around the table and sat, reaching back to the drawer for the opener and a knife. He handed it to her, flipped the cap from his beer, set the opener aside and looked at her, waiting, watching her spread butter on the roll.

She set down the roll and said, "Bobby, you know I love you and always will. You know that, right?" She glanced at him and he nodded.

She continued, "I, I don't know where I was or what I was doing. I remember nothing. You say I speak Russian – I don't think so, but why would you make up something like that? I was very confused and frightened when I woke up in the apartment. I don't know how I got there. I called you because I was afraid. I don't remember anything."

"What is the last thing you do remember?"

She thought a minute and then answered, "I remember meeting two men in the conference room in Townsend. Dr. Manlowe and Malcolm were there. I remember signing a paper and then walking to a van. I asked if I could call you and they said someone would inform you." Gleason stopped and thought, and then said, "That's all I remember. Did they call you?"

Bobby's mind reeled – two men, signed a paper, Dr. Manlowe, a van – these were pieces to the puzzle. "Uh, no, Honey, no. An agent met me in Deakins' office and told me you would be away. He said I should just wait for your return; that I should not try to find you. He said you were safe."

Gleason watched Bobby as he relayed all of this. "Did you try to find me?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, of course I did, Sweetheart!" he reached for her hand. "I did everything to try to find you. However, Deakins told me to stop looking. I have no idea how he knew I was searching, but he knew."

They sat quietly for a long moment. Gleason pulled away her hand and took up the roll, pulling it apart the roll and eating bites; Bobby drank his beer. "We cannot speak of this again, do you understand, Bobby? We cannot talk about this ever again. Promise me it is behind us. Promise."

Bobby searched her face. He would promise never to speak about it, but he would not stop investigating. He had to find out where she was, what she did and who had raped her. He took her hand and squeezed it, "I promise."

Gleason smiled and it seemed as though a weight lifted from her frame. "I'm so cold." They both stood and Bobby set his nearly empty bottle in the sink while Gleason wrapped up the last of the rolls and returned the butter to the fridge. Bobby shut off the light over the sink, checked the locks on the door and followed Gleason down the hall.

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	14. Chapter 14

81

Intentional End

Chapter 14

October 11

Thursday Night

Gleason handed Bobby the water bottle and stepped into the bathroom. Bobby went into the bedroom, set her water on the table, snapped on the lamp and pulled down the covers. He undressed, throwing socks and underwear into the basket in the closet; his jeans and sweater went onto the chair in the corner.

Bobby met Gleason in the bedroom doorway. He embraced her and kissed her forehead. They broke without a word and he continued to the bathroom, she to the bedroom. Gleason undressed, leaving her clothes in a pile on the floor and climbed into bed. Bobby returned, shut the bedroom door as always, snapped off the lamp and climbed in beside her.

Immediately, Gleason moved to him, sliding up against him, and her arm snaked over his waist. Her tongue went to his neck and she licked the whiskers under his chin, sucking a spot on his neck. Her hand rubbed his back and her left leg crept over his right.

Bobby was immediately erect, his left arm slid under her head, his right hand went to her face, thumb under her chin. He sought her mouth and her tongue met his. Bobby groaned and his breathing quickened.

He pushed her onto her back and got up on his left elbow. His right knee pushed against her left leg, spreading open her legs. His tongue moved from her mouth, he sucked her neck and moved down to her breast. His hand slid slowly, slowly to her place. He was leery of going too quickly, of frightening her; he did not want to have to stop – he was not sure he could. His penis was rock hard and throbbing; Jesus, he wanted to be inside her, but he made himself go slowly.

Oh, God, his mouth, his hand – so good, so good! Touch me, touch me there, she thought and arched her hips toward his hand. Why won't he touch me, she screamed in her mind. "Touch me," she whispered.

Bobby stopped, raised his head from her breast and looked at her, "Are you sure?" he asked. Gleason looked up at him and breathed, "Fuck me."

That was all he needed, Bobby's hand went to her nest and he felt her heat and wet before he touched it. She opened wide for him and his finger went straight up, deep, hard, fast.

Gleason cried out and arched against his hand, "Make me come."

Bobby was on his knees and hiked her bottom up against his thighs; her pussy was up, right in front of him. He pushed his cock down, set the head against her slit and pushed hard.

They groaned as one and he did not move. He was afraid that if he tried to thrust, he would come. He felt her heat; she was hot and wet and so goddamn tight! Gleason clenched him; he was bigger than she remembered, huge inside her and she felt every inch.

Bobby fell forward, over her, up on his palms, filling her completely; Gleason bent nearly in two. He searched her face, her eyes shut, her mouth open. Her hands ran over his back, sides, and reached for his butt. "Fuck me. Do it, please," she said through her breaths.

He slowly pulled from her body, her breathing increased. He slowly pushed back in, he had to force himself to go slowly; he wanted to pump her, jab himself in and out. "Fast, go fast. Fuck me!"

"What? What do you want?" he asked, wanting her to talk dirty. "Tell me what to do."

She breathed heavily, "Go hard, in and out, hard. Push hard. Please. Do it hard." Her eyes were closed as she spoke, she panted.

Bobby moved a little faster, but not harder. "No, _hard_, push hard! _Fuck me_!" A small whine issued forth and her eyes squeezed shut.

"Like this?" his voice was husky, and he quickened yet again. Oh, he was close; but this was fun, her words fueled him.

"Oh, ungh, ungh!"

"Is this good? You want more?" he could barely speak. He didn't wait for her answer as he felt himself begin to slip over. Bobby rose up, off her, upright; he put one of her ankles over each shoulder, held her thighs and slammed his cock in and out of her. He shoved one, two, three times and then stayed up and he saw white. His cum shot straight into her in a steady stream; his cock did not jerk out his spunk, he hosed into her.

Gleason gasped and came with a wild cry, stiffening, lifting off the bed, her head tilted back. Then, she came again, pumping herself against his crotch. Bobby slumped, still holding her legs and watched as she continued to come. He felt such power, he could do this to her, make her come like this. He began to soften as she began to settle, he pulled out slowly and Gleason clenched him, moaning a soft, "No, don't."

He gently moved her legs from his shoulders and lay beside her, his hand going immediately to her pussy; his cum ran down from her slit, onto the sheet. He played inside her lips, poking his finger in and out, rubbing her clit in a circle, pressing lightly.

"Good," he asked. Gleason moaned and moved sensuously, opening her legs wider. He could make her come again – he knew it. "Want to come again?"

"Yeah," she breathed.

"Tell me what to do."

"That, keep doing that," her voice was light and breathy.

"Like this? You want me to do this?" He slid in two fingers and waggled them slowly. Gleason hissed and lifted her hips to meet his fingers.

"How about this?" he tweaked her slippery clit, pulling it gently and then rubbing it in a tiny circle. Gleason groaned.

Bobby felt himself begin to fill. He wanted to fuck her again and he knew how he would take her.

"Feel me, Honey, pull me," he said to her. Gleason reached for his thickening length, took him and her hand slid easily up and down, his cum and her juice made him wet and slippery. Gleason smiled and stroked harder, faster. "I want to fuck you, Gleason. Would you like that? Huh? Want me to fuck you again?"

"Yes, fuck me. Fuck me again."

Her hand squeezed, pulled, rubbed and he got closer and closer to the edge. "Baby, turn over. Come on, roll over." Bobby took her shoulder, pulled her toward him, up onto her side, and then pushed her gently onto her stomach. "That's my girl," he said deeply, "On your knees, get on your knees." His voice was deep and hurried.

Gleason kept her head on the pillow, facing the wall, and crept up onto her knees, jutting her bottom up to him. Bobby knelt behind her and he ran his middle finger along her slit. Her pussy was thick, swollen and filled with wet. She gasped and moaned as he pressed his finger into her slit; he watched it disappear and his marble-like cock moved of its own accord. He needed to fuck her – now!

He pushed her ass down a bit and she spread her knees, opening herself wide to him. Bobby took his dick in his right hand, moving it along her slit; then, he set the huge, round head against it and pushed gently, watching it dip inside her. Jesus, to see it go in was better than any porn he had ever watched. He pushed again and more of his cock slid in. Ungh, he grunted.

Gleason hissed with every push. "You ok, Glea?" he breathed and pushed again and groaned aloud. He pulled out and then pushed in, god she is tight this way, he thought. His cock was shiny wet when it slid out. He pushed again, and then again and once more, tight, so tight! He pulled out and pushed in, and heard Gleason moan. His hands went to either side of her ass and he began to pump. He moved in and out of her over and over. He watched himself appear and disappear in and out of her.

"Ungh." "Ungh." "Ungh," he grunted with each thrust. Gleason's moans matched his grunts and then she was up on her palms. He fucked her doggy style and she came arching forward, pushing, slamming against his cock. Her come pushed him over and he shoved, stayed and pulled her ass toward him. His hot stream jerked from his cock into her, and Bobby growled like an animal.

Gleason fell onto the sheet again and Bobby pulled from her body quickly. She curled onto her left side and Bobby lay behind her, curled around her. They panted as they settled, he held her and she snuggled against him.

Bobby reached for her forehead and wiped the hair off her face from behind her. "Are you ok?" he asked her, his panting slowing.

"Да. Это было хорошо, настолько хорошо. Я люблю Вас." _Yes. It was good, so good. I love you._

Bobby froze. Gleason snuggled and mumbled, "Do you love me?"

"Yes, Baby, yes, I love you. Forever."

He felt her breathing slow and knew she was asleep. Shortly he was, too.

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	15. Chapter 15

7

Intentional End

Chapter 15

October 12

Friday Morning

Bobby walked up the block from parking his vehicle, carrying a bag of pastries, fruit and juice when a man turned from a shop window and stepped in stride with him, "Detective, may I have a word?"

Bobby stopped and looked at the man; it was the agent, Wycoff, from Deakins' office; the man who told him about Gleason being away for a while.

"What do you want?" Bobby glanced up the street to the apartment building; Gleason was alone up there.

"Let's walk," Wycoff said, taking hold of Bobby's right arm, squeezing tightly. He began to move, but Bobby resisted.

"Is Gleason OK?"

"Yes, yes, Detective, your lovely wife is fine. Sleeping actually, she is going to sleep for several hours. That was some banging you gave her last night. She's quite a piece of ass, eh?"

Bobby dropped the bag of food and took a swing, but a second man came from nowhere and grabbed Bobby's left arm, preventing the swing from connecting. "What have you done with her?" he hissed.

"Detective, calm down. We have done nothing to her. She is fine. Now, please, stop drawing attention and let us discuss how things are going to be, shall we?" Wycoff guided Bobby into the back seat of a dark sedan parked right outside the apartment lobby door. As he entered, Bobby spotted a white van across the street and knew it held back up for these two and perhaps surveillance equipment.

The second man slid in beside Bobby, he had retrieved the dropped bag and set it on the floor; Wycoff sat in front. The driver never moved.

Turning in the seat to face Bobby, Wycoff said, "Now, Detective, you have been warned, on numerous occasions, by several people, to stop investigating your wife's whereabouts and actions during her absence. As promised, she was returned to you safe and sound and now it is up to you to let life return to normal."

Bobby listened and his mind ran. "Who are you?"

The agent closed his eyes and shook his head sadly. "You know, they told me you were highly intelligent. I would have thought that you would be smart enough to know when to stop when told to stop." The two men stared at each other. Then Wycoff continued with mock exasperation, "All right, you are not going to let this go, I see. So, what do you want to know?"

"Who are you?" Bobby asked again.

"As I told you when we first met, I work for the FBI."

Bobby did not believe this for a minute. "Where did you take Gleason?"

"She spent a few days in Helsinki at the beginning and end of her trip and the rest of the time she was working in Pushtovkin, a small province in the upper Russian tundra."

"What kind of work was she doing?"

"She was using her expertise as a linguist to identify and translate a bit of found writing."

"Why all the secrecy?"

"Ah, now that, Detective, is classified. I cannot reveal the specific nature of her work. Suffice it to say, she completed the work given to her."

"Why does she speak Russian when she didn't before?"

Wycoff scoffed, shook his head again and said, "Your wife is a gifted linguist, Detective. She assimilated the language most naturally. Sadly, you have no idea how many languages your wife speaks. You should spend more time with her. There's a lot you don't know." The agent smiled smugly and waited.

Bobby's gut burned. He could have killed this man right here.

"Anything else?" Wycoff asked.

"Was she raped?"

Wycoff's demeanor changed ever so slightly and Bobby caught it. "She was, wasn't she?" Bobby knew he had them. The confirmation that his wife was raped sent his mind reeling; he would deal with that reality later. Right now, he had to seize this opportunity.

Bobby continued, "A civilian, while in the employ of a government agency, shall be held to the highest measures of safety and well being. Isn't that right, Wycoff?" Wycoff did not reply.

"You know who did it, don't you, an American." Bobby knew he had the upper hand. "Gleason was working for the FBI and was raped by an American also in the employ of the FBI." Wycoff and Bobby both knew the ramifications of this reality; if true, an investigation would ensue and charges filed. Moreover, thought Wycoff, the expedition would be exposed and he could not let that happen.

"Detective, you are spouting the deranged imaginings of a jealous husband. No such thing happened. Besides, how could you prove it? What evidence would you produce? Especially after the fucking you gave her last night?"

Bobby came over the back of the front seat and had his hands around Wycoff's throat before the second agent could move. Both he and the driver fought to get Bobby off the other man. Finally, Bobby realised what he was doing and his hands sprung away from Wycoff's throat. Wycoff fell against the dash sucking air, coughing. The second agent pulled Bobby into the back seat and Bobby shoved him away. The four men all panted, catching their breath.

Wycoff slowly recovered, and rubbing his neck, still gasping and coughing, whispered hoarsely, "Detective, go see to your wife." Then, to the agent sitting beside Bobby, he said, "Get him out of here." To himself, Wycoff said, I am not done with you, you son of a bitch; and Bobby thought the same.

The agent stepped from the car with the bag of food in hand, Bobby exited, rounded the back end of the car, took the offered bag and the agent facetiously brushed lint from Bobby's coat. Bobby jerked away and watched as the agent slid back into the car and both the sedan and the van across the street pulled away. He watched the sedan turn right at the corner. Then he turned, unlocked the lobby door and ran up to his apartment. The door stood ajar.

Bobby dropped the bag on his chair and dashed to the bedroom, that door was open as well. Gleason lay curled on her left side as was usual. He darted around the bed and knelt beside her, "Gleason, Honey wake up. Wake up, Gleason!" He shook her with some fervor and she moaned. Bobby unfolded her arms and searched inside her forearms, looking for anything. There, there it was, inside her right elbow, the pinprick of a needle. They wouldn't be stupid enough to leave the syringe, he thought, nor would they give her anything dangerous. What did Wycoff say . . . she'll be asleep for hours. Bobby felt her head, no fever. Just let her sleep. Let her sleep. He covered her shoulders and kissed her gently. Then he stood, went to the kitchen and left Gleason a note that he would be back by one. He locked the door on his way out and jogged to his car.

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Bobby took the elevator to the sixth floor and found Derek in surveillance. "Derek, I, I need to talk with you."

"Sure, what's up?" Derek was young, just out of the academy, graduating, not as a cop, but as a surveillance expert. He was impressed with Detective Bobby Goren, he had heard stories about this guy, how smart, brave, odd.

"I need a sweeper, the best you have; something that will find government grade cameras and mikes."

"You want me to put together a sweep team?"

"Uh, no, no." Bobby looked down, stepped back two steps and his left hand scratched at a spot behind his left ear. "I, I need to check it out myself." He glanced up at the young man, and then held his gaze.

Derek processed what his hero of sorts was saying. "I see." He struggled. "Uhm, do you have any paperwork for this equipment?" he asked softly.

Bobby shook his head, no. Derek nodded in understanding. "Oh, man." He struggled some more, then, he turned, went to a shelf, removed a bin and pulled out a tool that looked like the cross between a cyborg pancake turner and a heavy-duty flyswatter. He slipped the unit in the plastic carrier bag that had held his lunch and slid it across the counter. Barely above a whisper, Derek said, "Be sure to turn it on; go slowly, an inch off the surface, cover every inch. If it's government grade, it could be the size of a small screw head."

Bobby took the bag and his eyes said it all. He slipped the bag into the inner jacket pocket and returned to the elevator, pushed the down arrow and waited. The elevator doors opened and there stood Eames. Shit!

"Bobby!"

"Yeah." Bobby pushed the button for the fifth floor. He did not want to engage with Eames.

"How's Gleason? Everything ok? Are you back already?"

The elevator moved so slowly. "Uh, no, no, I'll be back on Tuesday." Finally, the doors opened and Bobby stepped out. He turned and took a step, and then another and the elevator doors closed. He stepped back and pushed the down button again.

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Bobby went straight to the bedroom and found Gleason still asleep. She had turned over and seemed to be breathing deeply. He put his fingers against the pulse in her neck. He didn't know what the drugs she had been given might do to her heart. Her pulse was slow, as it usually was, but strong and steady. He pulled up the covers and pushed the hair away from her face. She mumbled something and stretched.

"Honey?"

"Я не могу прочитать это. Это не походит ни на что, я видел." _I cannot read this. This is like nothing I have seen._

Gleason frowned, then snuggled, pulling Bobby's pillow toward her.

Bobby sighed heavily and removed the sweeper from his jacket pocket. He laid it on the bed and then removed his jacket, trading it for the sweeper. He moved to the foot of the bed and looked at his sleeping wife. Where would those bastards hide a camera? He looked from the bed to the dresser, to the painting over it. He flipped on the switch, reached up and began his search.

Twice, Gleason mumbled in her sleep, but he could not make out whether it was English or Russian. The sweeper made no sound, the digital read-out did not move. He swept the wall across from the foot of the bed and everything against it. He swept the wall and furniture on his side of the bed. He did the same with the opposite wall. Bobby sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the wall behind the headboard, he did not want to disturb Gleason, so that wall would wait.

He sat, stared and opened his mind. Bobby did what he always did when faced with a loose thread, a mass of details he could not pattern out, he opened his mind. He had been able to do this since he was a boy. He just stopped thinking and literally opened his mind to nothing. His head tilted slightly to the left, just slightly, his eyes seemed to unfocus, his lips pursed and he breathed deeply and slowly. Images floated in and out of a pair of opened doors in his mind. Doors. Open doors. Bobby's eyes strayed to the bedroom door, standing open. He stood, moved to it and shut it.

There, the top hinge, the top hinge had been replaced with one bearing a button camera. Bobby stared at it, and then he went to the hall closet and took a hammer and flat head screwdriver from his toolbox. He returned to the bedroom, shut the door, placed the screwdriver against the tiny lens, and hit the end of the screwdriver's handle sharply. He hit it again and heard the lens crack. Then, he used the screwdriver and hammer to remove the pin and from the top and bottom hinges and then he removed them as well.

The hammering woke Gleason, "Bobby?" She sounded drugged.

"It's ok, Honey. Go back to sleep," he said over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" she mumbled, struggling to sit up.

"I'm fixing the door, that's all. Go back to sleep."

"Ok," and she snuggled back into her pillow, hugging Bobby's to her chest.

Bobby removed the hinges and leaned the door against the wall. He returned the sweeper to the bag, slipped on his jacket, dropped the hinges, pins and screws into his pocket and drove back to One Police Plaza.

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"Jeeze, what did you do? Why'd you smash it?"

"What can you tell me about it?"

"Well, not much in this condition." Derek looked up at the tall man.

Bobby leaned with both hands on the counter and fumed. "Look, can you tell if it was infrared?"

Derek looked at the man he admired for a beat and then said, "Let me take a look at this, let me see what I find. Uh, it's gonna take about twenty minutes or so. You wanna come back or wait?"

Bobby thought a moment and then said, "I'll be back." He left and took the elevator to the eleventh floor. He strode straight into Deakins' office and shut the door.

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	16. Chapter 16

93

Intentional End

Chapter 16

Friday Morning

October 12

"Let me call you right back. Yeah, ten minutes. Thanks." Deakins hung up, stood and said, "How is she? Is she ok?"

Bobby walked to his boss's desk, got right in Deakins' face and could barely keep himself together. "They bugged our apartment! A camera and sound in our bedroom! They got into our apartment while I was out this morning and those bastards drugged her – gave her something in her arm! They pulled me off the street and told me to back off."

Bobby drew ragged breaths; he had to steady himself for this next bit, "Wycoff as much as told me she was raped. You son-of-a-bitch, you knew about this." Bobby had to force himself not to go for Deakins' throat, too.

Bill Perkins happened to notice the two men in Deakins' office and said to Logan who was passing by, "Hey, should we go see if everything is ok in there?" and nodded toward the office. Logan looked and saw Bobby up in the boss's face, left arm flailing, shouting.

"Aw, shit, Goren. Ok, let's go." The pair walked the short distance to the office and Logan knocked, opened the door and they entered, "Everything ok, Captain?"

Bobby spun and glared at the two men. "It's ok, gentlemen, everything is fine. Thank you." Logan looked from Deakins to Bobby and knew everything was not fine. Deakins nodded and Perkins turned to leave, Logan hesitated. "It's ok. Please, go."

Reluctantly, Logan left and shut the door behind him. Bobby turned back to the Captain and said, "You knew about all of this didn't you?"

Deakins stepped away and said, "Bobby, sit down. Come on, sit. I swear to you, I did not, and do not, know anything. Gleason, is she ok? What do you mean she was raped? Did she tell you?"

Bobby physically slumped and moved to a chair. With head in his hands, he said, "She, she . . . she wouldn't let me touch her. I suspected she was raped from her behaviour. This morning, I asked Wycoff if it happened and, and his demeanor changed and I knew." Bobby looked up at his boss. "I know she was raped." Deakins returned his look and Bobby saw empathy. He had to trust someone.

He continued softly, "She speaks fluent Russian now, she never did before. She was on the phone, speaking Russian, and then she didn't even remember being on the phone, Then, then she let me make love to her. And they watched." He covered his face with his hands.

Deakins sat beside him, "Bobby, what do you want me to do?"

Bobby lowered his hands, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, laced his fingers and said, "Help me."

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Gleason woke screaming, That man was pulling, yanking on her hair. No, no, don't, don't do this. Please don't do this. He struck her and ripped open her shirt.

She shot up, crying, sobbing and realized she was in their bed. "Bobby!" she called for him. "Bobby!" she cried louder. He didn't answer. Oh, her head pounded. She had to pee. She smelled of sex. "Bobby?" she whimpered. He's not here. He's not here.

Gleason couldn't wait any longer, she had to pee, so she crawled off Bobby's side of the bed and walked naked into the bathroom. She turned on the shower, went back into the bedroom and noticed the door leaning against the wall. Why is the door off the door? Gleason's hand went to her mouth. They were here. Oh, God, they were here.

She grabbed her throw from the foot of the bed and went to find her cell.

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Bobby was on his way home when his cell rang; he flipped it open, saw her number and said, "Hi, Sweetheart. How do you feel?"

"Bobby where are you?" her voice was a whisper, she sounded frightened.

"Honey, what's wrong? Are you ok?"

"Bobby, they were here."

She remembers them being there? He glanced at the clock on the dash; she had only been asleep for about three hours since he returned after the run-in with Wycoff. "Who? Who was there, Gleason?"

"Them. They were here."

"I'm almost home. Is the door locked? Go check the door."

"Bobby, the door is off the door," she whispered.

Then he understood. "Honey, I did that, I took the bedroom door off. It's ok. Honey, I did it."

"Come home, Bobby."

"I'm almost there, Baby. Let's talk till I get there."

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"We need to repeat her," Wycoff told Peterson.

"What is with that woman? That Conway person – no problem, one shot and it's all gone. Why won't she blank?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's her chemistry, her brain, who knows. We need to do something significant to get her to blank. That detective husband of hers is not going to give up." Wycoff did not want to tell his boss about Goren figuring out that his wife had been raped; and he certainly did not want his boss to know who had done it.

Peterson leaned back in his chair and asked, "What about the camera, you getting anything?"

Wycoff stood and moved to the window, "Oh yeah, we got stuff. Last night, Jesus, best porn I've ever seen."

"For Christ's sake, Phil, this is not your private booth. If it's not useful for our purposes, get rid of it. Understand?"

"Yeah, yeah. What about the woman, why don't we bring her in again, up the dosage and rerun the process?"

"No, you go to her. Watch their place, when that husband of hers is out, go in and process her. I'm not sure this over-the-phone-crap is working. Just make sure this time it works. And watch that detective husband of hers. I have a bad felling about him."

Wycoff nodded and left.

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"Gussie, hand Mum the fork, please," she said to her son, smiling. Malcolm was home from his consultancy, he was loving and attentive toward her; he was enjoying his work; and, he was being an excellent father to their son. Angus had stopped wetting the bed, was sucking his thumb less and was talking more. Maeve had not been this happy in a long time.

"Who do I hear at the door?" Maeve said. Gussie smiled and clambered down from the stool where he sat watching and helping his mother. He ran down the hall and launched into his father's arms, wrapping his arms around Malcolm's neck. Gussie had not been this happy in a long time.

"I'm home, Lass, and I've got a lad around my neck," Malcolm called as set his case on the bottom step as was his habit and carried his boy down the hall to the kitchen. He had completed the consultancy, was feeling ten years younger, his classes were going well, his wife loved him and his son adored him. Malcolm had not been this happy in a long time.

Malcolm held his son and kissed his wife. "What can I do to help you?" he asked.

"Sit and play with Angus; and tell me of your day," she replied.

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"We're going to go in one more time and make sure she blanks this time," Wycoff told the team.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Robinson asked.

"No, it is probably a very bad idea, but nothing else has worked," Wycoff replied.

No one said anything for a minute, and then Drumiester offered, "Why doesn't she just have an accident?"

Eyes moved from face to face, all ending on Wycoff. He considered it and then said, "She just may at that."

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Bobby parked around the block and jogged to the apartment. He let himself in and found Gleason sitting on the bed, wrapped in her throw, shivering, rocking, and hitching sobs. "Honey, are you ok?" He stepped to the bed and sat, taking her into his arms. "Honey, shush, it's all right." He pulled back and looked at her – she was a wreck.

"I didn't know where you were. I woke up and you weren't here. I had a bad dream and you weren't here. They were here, weren't they?"

Bobby looked at her and realised she knew what had happened, or knew something had happened. "Gleason, how do you know someone was here?"

She wiped her nose on her throw and "I was sleeping and then a man, I thought it was you, pulled the covers off me and, and . . . then –," she looked away, thinking, "I can't remember anything after that."

Bobby stared at her, not saying anything, waiting for her to continue, giving her mind time to gather what had happened.

"They were whispering. And one held my arms. And the other one, the other one . . . I can't remember."

"The shower is running. Did you take a shower?" he asked her.

"The shower! Oh, no, I turned it on when I went to the bathroom. I need a shower. Has it been running this whole time?"

"It's ok, come on, let's go." He helped her from the bed and held her hand, leading her to the steamy bathroom.

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"Ok, we have to decide – do we do her again or does she have an accident?" Wycoff said to his boss.

"An accident? Are you out of your mind? Jesus Christ, Phil, you want to off her? Are you serious?"

"Ok, ok. We do her. She's going back to Evanston on Sunday. We can take her one day next week; maybe next weekend when she's here and the cop is in New York."

"No, that's too late. She's going to remember or that detective is going to figure out where she was and what she was doing. She needs to be done before she goes to Evanston. Just make sure she blanks this time; I'm getting tired of this. We need to move on. Understand?"

"Yes, I understand. She'll blank this time."

"Good, get out of here."

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Gleason showered while Bobby prepared their breakfast; brunch, actually as it was just about noon. He made tea and set out the pastries, poured them each a glass of juice, rinsed the grapes and set them in a bowl. Then he walked back to the bedroom, Gleason was dressing.

He watched her step into her white cotton panties and pull them up. Then she took the undershirt from the bed, pulled it on, turned around, and saw him standing in the doorway.

"Oh! You scared me," she exclaimed, hands at her mouth.

Bobby stepped to her and enveloped her in his arms, "Gleason, I love you so much. I don't want anything to happen to you. You need to be careful, hear me?" He stepped back and looked at her. He didn't want to frighten her, but he suspected that Wycoff and his goons were still lurking.

Gleason looked at him and shook her head, "Let me get dressed. I'm starving."

She was on her fourth piece of toast and second cup of tea when Bobby's cell rang. "Goren."

It was Alex, "Bobby, it's me. Look, I know you are taking a few days to be with Gleason, but Deakins said to call you."

His eyes slammed shut, "What?"

"The Brazilians decided to return the pilot's wife to the US. She's on a flight right now. Deakins wants us to take her into custody from the marshals at JFK and begin processing her."

He said nothing because he didn't want to erupt. Eames heard him breathing, "You there?"

"Yes. Alex, isn't there anyone else?" he said with tremendous resignation.

"I know Bobby, but it's you and me. And, we're probably going to have to work through the weekend as well."

Son-of-a-bitch, he thought. "What time? When does the plane arrive?"

"Not for five hours, but we have to get the paperwork started. How soon can you get here?"

Bobby glanced at the kitchen clock, twelve-forty-three, "Give me an hour."

"Thanks. Say hi to Glea-." But Bobby had already hung up.


	17. Chapter 17

101

Intentional End

Chapter 17

Very Early Saturday Morning

October 13

He watched her sleep as he undressed. Bobby had worked until two and was exhausted. Gleason sighed and shifted as though she felt his eyes upon her. He dropped his shirt onto the chair in the corner and unbuckled his belt. Gleason opened her eyes and found his face.

"Are you all right?" she asked, as she did every time he came in late.

"I'm tired."

"Come to bed," she answered and held up the covers.

He stepped out of his trousers and removed his boxers, tossing both onto the pile on the chair. The bed dipped as he took his place beside her. "God, I love you," he whispered as his right hand took her head, pulling her toward him, kissing her fully.

Gleason responded completely. She wrapped herself around him, tongue slipping into his mouth, seeking his tongue. Her passion escalated and she became the aggressor. She pushed him onto his back and stretched across his trunk, her left knee crossing his left thigh, resting between his legs.

Bobby lay spread-eagle under her, his hands on the pillow beside his ears. He raised his right hand to touch her and she pushed it back down. "Don't," she said simply and sealed her mouth over his. He moaned softly.

Gleason lay up on her right arm as Bobby had done so often. He watched her examine him, sliding her hand over his chest, a finger circling his nipple. Her hand slid to his belly and below, fingers raking through the coarse hairs, stroking around his manhood, but touching nothing important.

Bobby's right leg moved away and he shifted his hips, wanting more; his penis began to fill. Gleason looked at his face and saw him staring at her, his mouth open, breathing fast and deep. His left arm moved and she dropped her mouth onto his chest, above his left breast, and bit him just hard enough, then said, "I said don't."

Bobby's hand fell to the pillow, "Glea –?" he whispered. He wasn't sure he liked this. It was good, and sexy, but he didn't know she had this in her. He wasn't sure this was the same woman.

"Shut up," she said and kissed him hard again, her tongue licking his. Her mouth moved to his neck and she licked a spot; salty, rough, she thought. Her tongue rubbed the spot, pressing hard and then she sucked it, hard, drawing flesh between her teeth. She moved to his ear and breathed hotly next to it, her tongue lightly darting. Then she whispered, "Do you love me?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, I love you, Honey, I love you," he moaned, his bottom rubbing on the sheet, his penis erect.

"Why?" she whispered.

"Huh?"

"Why do you love me?" she whispered against his ear, her hand on his breast, thumb dragging back and forth over his nipple, just like he does.

Bobby didn't know what to think and he certainly didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. Gleason took his nipple between her thumb and index finger and rolled it like a stone, "Answer me. Why do you love me?" she whispered hotly.

Again, he didn't know what to say, "I, I love you, Baby, I love you," he answered.

That wasn't what she wanted to hear so she squeezed and twisted his nipple and he yelped, "Gleason! Stop!" In a flash, he grabbed her wrist and flipped her onto her back, pinning her hands, straddling her. "What's wrong with you?"

She gazed up at him and grinned, "Get off me." They stared at each other. "I said, get-off-me." He didn't move. She stared into him and said, "Please, get off me." Bobby looked at her and then moved aside, sitting up in the bed. "Thank you," she said.

"Gleason –," he didn't know what else to say.

"What?"

"Honey, I, what were . . .," he struggled to find the words.

"You didn't like that. You didn't like me taking charge, did you? You have to be in control. It's always when you want to, the way you want it."

"Gleason, I did like it, but. . ."

"But what? You had to take over; you can't not be in control, Bobby. It's all about you."

"No, no. Honey, you've never been like that before; I, I didn't know you . . . Honey, I didn't know you were like that."

Gleason sat up at this, "Like what?"

"I didn't know you could be mean like that."

She looked at him and then said, "I thought you would like it. I'm sorry if I hurt you." She swung her legs off the bed, pulled her green throw around her and headed around the foot of the bed.

He watched her, "Where are you going?"

She stopped and said, "I'm going to pee, is that all right with you?" and she left the room.

Bobby's hands went to his face and he turned in the bed and put his feet on the floor. He pulled his jeans from the chair and stepped into them then headed for the bathroom.

The door opened and he was waiting for her, "We need to talk."

"I'm going to bed."

"No, we're going to talk, Gleason."

"Fuck you! I'm going back to bed. Sleep out there." Her head indicated the living room and she turned into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Bobby leaned against the wall across from the bathroom and didn't know what to think. That woman was not the woman he had married. Gleason had never been the aggressor in sex, she had never sworn at him like that, had never been mean like that. What had happened this evening? They had had a quiet afternoon after the morning turmoil. Then he was called out and she was alone here but they had spoken nearly every hour until she went to bed at eleven.

He wandered to the end of the hall and entered the kitchen, getting a glass of orange juice, moving to the living room. Bobby dropped into his chair, sipped his juice and then set the glass on the bookcase beside him.

He set his left heel on the edge of his seat, leaned his left elbow on his knee, and chewed on his thumb, thinking. Something happened while he was at work. Did they come back and do something to her again? Were they still watching? Bobby had swept the rest of the apartment and found nothing; the only camera was in the bedroom and the sweeper picked up no other mikes. They must be watching his comings and goings. Their apartment was on the backside of the building, facing the alley and the building behind.

Bobby was lost in thought when he heard Gleason cry out. He jumped up and ran to their bedroom. Gleason was thrashing, crying.

"Gleason, wake up!" He went around the foot of the bed and sat beside her, trying to take her arms. "Honey, wake up! Gleason, Gleason, wake up!" He caught her arms and shook her.

She stopped struggling, opened her eyes and stared at him, eyes wide, gasping for breath. "Glea-?" He didn't like the way she was looking at him. "Honey?" She looked like she didn't know who he was.

"I tried, I did; but, I cannot read it. I'm sorry. It has no recognizable roots. The graphic forms are unlike any I've seen. I'm sorry."

"Gleason, Honey, wake up," he said softly – she was still asleep.

"I'm not lying! I'm not!" she began to struggle again. "Let go of me! Let me go! Stop!" Her struggling increased and then she screamed. Loud. And she didn't stop.

"Gleason, Gleason stop! Honey! Shush, Glea-!" and then he hit her.

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Ted felt for the phone, found it and grunted, "Yeah," into it. He listened with his eyes shut, said, "Bobby's apartment?" and then opened his eyes. "Yeah, I'll check it out. Thanks Mrs. Ziegler. Yeah, good night."

"What is it?" Becky asked.

Ted and Becky Olewine were, respectively, the building super and manager. They lived across the hall from Bobby and Gleason and the couples were friends. Ted stepped into a pair of jeans and said, "Mrs. Ziegler said she thought she heard a woman screaming in Bobby's apartment." Mrs. Ziegler's apartment was next door to the Goren's. "I'm going to see what's up. I'll be right back."

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Gleason stopped screaming, wrenched out of his hands and scuttled away, off his side of the bed, onto the floor. She scrambled behind the chair in the corner, crying aloud, wailing. Bobby crawled over the bed to her, pulled away the chair, and reached for her.

Gleason screamed again and shouted, "No, don't hurt me! Don't hit me! NO!" She kept screaming, "No!"

Then, someone was pounding on the front door, "Bobby? Bobby! Open the door!"

Fuck!

He didn't know what to do. He tried to shush Gleason, but she huddled further and further into the corner, kicking at him, flailing at him, hysterical.

"Bobby! Open up or I'm calling 9-1-1!"

Goddamn it! "I'm coming, I'm coming," he hollered and stood up, moving to the living room and the front door.

"Christ, Bobby, what's going on? Is everything all right?" Ted asked. He looked at his friend and saw an exhausted, miserable man. He tried to see past Bobby.

Bobby couldn't look at Ted and stood with one hand on the door and the other on the jamb, blocking Ted from looking in. "Yeah, yeah it's good. Look, I'm sorry. Gleason, uh, she's not been herself for awhile and she, she's just having a bad time right now." Bobby knew his friend knew he was lying – a boy scout could see that.

Ted said nothing and watched Bobby struggle. Bobby gave Ted brief, sidelong glances, like he does when he's uncertain, ashamed, and afraid. "I'm, I'm sorry Ted. She'll quiet down. I'll get her quiet."

"Ok. Can I do anything? You want Becky to talk with her?" Ted asked.

Bobby squeezed his eyes with his right hand and sighed, then said, "Uh, no, no, thanks. I'll, I'll take care of it." He stood, not knowing what to do, what to say next.

Ted nodded and then turned to leave then stopped, "Ok. G'night."

Bobby shut the door and leaned against it. Gleason had stopped screaming and sobbing. He walked slowly back down the hall.

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"Is everything all right over there?" Becky asked her husband when he returned.

"No. Something is going on. He was acting strangely; he wouldn't look at me, wouldn't let me see past the door. I could hear her crying in the bedroom."

"You don't think she's having a breakdown, do you?"

"I don't know. She was gone for all those weeks." Ted slipped out of his jeans and got into bed. "She wasn't even here when his mother died."

"I thought they had separated."

"I did, too. But, maybe, she was hospitalised. Who knows?"

Ted and Becky were quiet for a long minute and then Ted leaned down and kissed his wife, then he turned off the light."

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Bobby stood and looked at the woman huddled in the corner – Gleason had vomited and urinated. She huddled against the wall, shivering; she looked like a junkie.

"Baby," he said so softly, sadly. "Come here, stand up." He stepped to her slowly, reaching for her. Gleason was breathing heavily, staring at nothing. "Honey, give me your hand. Come on." He squatted in front of her and spoke as if to a frightened child, "Gleason, look at me. Look at me."

She appeared catatonic. Carefully, carefully, he took her hand from where it lay on her left thigh. She jolted at the touch and looked at him. He held onto her hand and watched as she struggled to recognise him.

"Come on, Sweetheart, stand up," he spoke softly, his eyes not leaving hers. "Come on." He reached for her other hand, she raised it to his, and she struggled to stand; she was impossibly thin. Bobby guided her to the bathroom, set the plug in the tub drain and turned on the water for a bath. He took a length of toilet paper and wiped the vomit from her right breast and arm; he took another length and finished, tossed it into the toilet and flushed. Her shivering seemed to increase and he wrapped a bath sheet around her. He waited for the tub to fill and looked at her, pushing the hair from her face.

He bent and tested the water, increased the hot and got a fresh washer cloth and towel. Gleason stood dumbly, staring at the tub as it filled. He felt the water again and twisted both knobs to slow the flow. "Here, get in, Honey, get in the tub." He took her hands and held them as she stepped over the edge and sat, leaning back. Gleason sighed and slid down in the tub, the water just above her breasts, her shoulders and knees high and dry. Bobby sat on the edge and looked at her. He turned and shut off the water and watched her. She stopped shivering and slowly moved her arms under the water.

"Honey, I'm going into the bedroom, I'll be right back. Ok?" 

It was as if she didn't hear him. Bobby stood, left the bathroom door open and went to the kitchen. He got the pail from under the sink, sloshed in a bit of cleaning liquid and filled it with hot, soapy water; he took the roll of paper towels and grabbed a plastic carrier bag from the batch in the hall closet and headed back to the bedroom. He glanced in on Gleason as he passed the bathroom – she rested with her eyes closed.

Bobby used to the paper towels to wipe up the vomit and urine, tossing them into the plastic bag. Then he returned to the kitchen for the big sponge and scrub brush. He scrubbed the floor and the rug. He finished and tied up the plastic bag, dumped the bucket into the toilet – Gleason never moved – and washed and put away the cleaning items.

He walked into the bathroom and Gleason looked as if she was asleep. He sat on the edge and felt the water. Bobby dipped the wasther cloth and lathered it, then wiped her neck and down her left arm.

Gleason sighed and roused, startled and began to panic, thrashing, sliding. "Gleason, no, no, Honey, it's me. Glea –," he dropped the cloth and took her arms. "Gleason, stop! Honey, it's me, Bobby."

She looked up at him and seemed to recognise him, "Bobby?"

"Yes, Sweetheart, it's me. You're home, with me."

Gleason stared at him, looked toward the hallway and whispered. "Are they still here? Are they!"

"No, no one is here, just us." They stared at each other and then he said, "Let me wash you." He took up the cloth, lathered it again and took her arm, dragging the cloth over it.

She watched him and sighed. Bobby washed under her arm and over her chest, he hesitated touching her breasts, but did and she made no move. He rewet the cloth, lathered it and began at her foot, moved up her calf and shin to her thigh; then he did the other leg.

Bobby dipped the cloth, and moved slowly toward the place between her legs. Gleason slammed her knees together and grabbed his wrist, "No, no! Don't! Don't touch me." She tried to skid away from him, splashing and sliding.

"Ok! Ok, Honey, ok. Here, you wash yourself. It's ok. Here," he dropped the cloth and put up both hands, palms out. He stood and backed out of the bathroom, "I'll wait for you in the bedroom." Bobby left and pulled shut the door.

A few minutes later, he heard the tub draining and then Gleason came around the corner wrapped in a bath sheet. "Here, put on your nightgown," he said, holding her green gown. Gleason crossed to him and removed the towel, setting it on the bed, waiting for him to dress her and he did.

She went to her side of the bed and climbed in. "Are you coming?" she asked.

Bobby stood at the foot of the bed and wiped his hands over his face. He was dead tired, physically and emotionally. "Yeah, yeah, Honey. I'll be right back. You go to sleep, I'll, I'll be right back."

Gleason slid down in the bed and covered up and Bobby walked into the living room to check the door and turn off the light in the kitchen. But he didn't return to the bedroom. He sat on the edge of his chair in the dark, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. He had to get up in an hour and a half. He leaned back in the chair and stared into the darkness.


	18. Chapter 18

Intentional End

Chapter 18

Saturday Morning

October 13

Bobby was dead tired; he never did get to sleep last night after Gleason's night terror. He was going to give George Huang a call and talk with him about her. Something is seriously wrong. Bobby showered and dressed quietly as Gleason slept soundly. He battled whether to wake her to tell her he was leaving for work.

"Gleason," he said so quietly, standing beside the bed, looking across at her. "Honey, I'm going to work." She didn't move, so he walked around the bed and sat beside her, brushing hair from her face, running his thumb over her cheek. He loved this woman so much, she was the world to him; and he was worried about her and frightened for her. "Honey?"

She sighed and shifted and Bobby's gut clenched. He didn't know if she would panic upon waking. "Baby, it's me, Bobby."

Slowly she awoke and stretched, looking at him. And she smiled.

It's her, it's her! "Good morning," he smiled at her. "How do you feel?"

"I'm so hungry." She saw that he was already dressed and asked, "What time is it?"

"Just after seven."

"Why are we awake so early? It's Saturday, isn't it?"

"Yes, but I have to go into work."

Her disappointment was obvious. "Oh, ok. Do you have to work all day?"

"I don't know, Sweetheart, I'll have to see how the day goes."

"Do you have time for us to go get breakfast?"

He looked at her and loved her, "Yes, of course. You get dressed and we'll go get breakfast."

Gleason smiled and reached for his head. He bent and they kissed – a soft, loving, gentle kiss. He took her hand and pulled back the covers with the other. "Get dressed."

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Bobby was an hour and a half late for work, and he didn't care. He had called Eames to let her know and she said she understood.

"You said Gleason had a bad night. Is she sick?"

"Uh, no, she's, she's better this morning, much better." He wanted to get going on what they had to do so that he could get back to her. She said she wanted to go shopping, just walk around. It was a lovely autumn day and she wanted to be outside. Bobby was concerned about her being out, but figured the likelihood of her being accosted in public was less than at home. Besides, he figured, apparently they had done yesterday whatever they were going to do her.

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He looks terrible, thought Eames. Bobby seemed preoccupied and sluggish, but at least his temper seemed to be in check. "Carver wants the pilot's wife arraigned first thing Monday. We have all day today and tomorrow to build this case. Thank goodn –."

"Uh, I want to get out of here early today and I need to take off tomorrow and probably Monday. Gleason's going back to Evanston and I want to go back with her, get her settled." Bobby said this all in a rush, not looking at his partner, moving papers and files on his desk.

Eames looked at him and didn't say anything because she was furious. He has taken off so much goddamn time! His mother's death notwithstanding, he has taken off days being drunk, being angry, being the spoiled brat that he has become. Goddamn him!

Bobby knew she was angry and he stole glances up at her, he put up both hands in the way he does and said, "Look, I know I've taken off a lot of time. And I know I've left you in the lurch a number of times, being drunk and stupid. I know you've carried the brunt of the workload. And, and I'm sorry. But, for right now, this is the way it has to be. Once things settle down, I'll, I'll be here." He glanced up at her and saw she was buying none of it.

Eames grabbed her cup and headed for the coffee room. Bobby wiped his face with his hands, pulled his cell and hit speed dial one.

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Gleason walked back toward the apartment after she and Bobby had had breakfast at the coffee shop. He wanted to take her back before he went on to work, but she wanted to walk. She had planned to walk for a while, but was suddenly tired and felt mildly sick.

She was half a block from home when her phone rang and she stopped to dig it from her bag. "Hello?"

She listened, "Yes." She listened and then, "Yes," again. She listened, and then said, "Yes," a final time. Gleason flipped shut her phone and returned it to her bag. She stood a moment, fighting dizziness, fought a gag and rushed home.

The man in the dark blue car flipped shut his phone and watched with a nasty grin as Gleason hurried along.

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Bobby's call to Gleason rang once and then went to dial tone – the indication that she was on the phone; she had no voice mail. Her phone would register a missed call and his number, so she'll call back, he figured; she was probably calling me.

Eames returned with a cup of tea. He glanced at her and said softly, "How about if I do the evidence inventory, catalogue the photos and write the narrative? Then I'll complete the transfer reports from last night and start the extradition paperwork for Carver's office." He did that inconsistent glancing thing he does.

His partner looked at him, took a sip of tea and said, "What do you want me to do?"

He looked at her steadily and said, "Don't be mad at me."

Eames smiled, shook her head and said, "Give me those extradition reports; you do the inventory." And, with that, the partners set to the task of creating the paper trail of evidence to indict the dead pilot's wife.

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Gleason opened the door to the apartment and just made it to the bathroom, leaving the front door open. Becky, from across the hall, carried a laundry basket of clean clothes from the stairwell, heading for her apartment and saw the Goren's door open. She recalled the trouble from last night, set down the basket and leaned into the living room. She heard Gleason retching and made her way down the hall.

"Gleason?"

The toilet flushed and Gleason stepped into the hallway and was terrified, "How did you get in here?"

"The, the door was open. Are you all right?"

Gleason stared at the other woman with her hands to her mouth. "Becky?" she asked, just now recognising her neighbor.

"Yes, Gleason, it's me, Becky. Are you all right?" she asked again, reaching to put a hand on Gleason's arm but she jerked away.

Gleason was suddenly embarrassed, "I, uh, I'm sorry, you startled me. That's all."

Becky was curious about last night. "Is Bobby home?"

"No, no. He had to go to work today."

"Why was your door open? Are you sure you're ok? You were sick."

Gleason needed to lie down, "Ah, Becky, I'm, I'm just really tired and need to lie down. It must be the flu or something. Please, let me lie down. Do you want Bobby to call you when he gets home?"

"No, that's not necessary. I just wanted to be sure you were ok." She looked at the tall beauty and wanted to ask about last night, but didn't know how. "Gleason, is everything ok between you and Bobby?"

Gleason stared at her neighbor, "What do you mean?"

"Well, Ted and I wondered if you and Bobby had separated since you were gone for all those weeks. I mean, he didn't seem to go to away and you certainly didn't come home."

"We weren't separated. I was, I . . .," and Gleason knew she couldn't say anything. I can't say anything; I can't, I won't say anything. ". . . you have to go. Please, just go."

Becky could see Gleason's anxiety increase. "All right, all right, I'm going," Becky said, again trying to touch her.

Gleason jerked away and whispered, "Hurry, they might see you."

Becky looked at the other woman and worried. "Ok, I'll call you later, ok?"

"Just go. Now." Gleason practically pushed Becky to the door, into the hallway and shut the door.

Picking up her basket, Becky was certain Bobby's wife had had, or was having, some sort of breakdown.

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"There, the photos are catalogued," Bobby said, stacking the last folder. He glanced at his watch and noted that Gleason had not called back. He flipped open his phone and dialed.

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Gleason locked the door after Becky left and stood wondering what to do next. Her cell rang and she fumbled for it.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Sweetheart, how do you feel?" Bobby was relieved that she answered.

"Bobby? Is that you?"

"Yes, Honey, it's me. Is everything all right? Where are you?" His fear started again.

Gleason had to stop and think a minute. "I got sick and then Becky was in the apartment. And someone called. I remember talking on the phone. I'm so tired, Bobby, when are you coming home?"

She sounded confused. She was sick? Who called? Why was Becky in the apartment? "Glea-, are you at the apartment now?"

"Yes."

"When did you get sick?"

"I wanted to walk after you left the coffee shop and I started to, but I got real tired and then my phone rang and then I had to hurry home and I was in the bathroom and when I came out, Becky was here. Are you coming home soon?"

"Who called you?"

She had to think again. I don't know. Who called me? What did they want? "I don't know. I'm really tired and want to go lie down. Come home. Bye." And she clicked off.

"Wait!" but all he heard was silence. Well, at least she is home, he thought. She is not well enough to go back to Evanston tomorrow. First the needs to see a doctor. And a psychiatrist. Bobby would call George Huang, the psychiatrist over at SVU, the first thing Monday morning.

"Everything ok?" Eames asked as she returned from the copy machine.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, fine. Listen, let's finish up for today. Uh, Gleason's probably not going back to Evanston tomorrow, so I'll be in. We can finish up a lot tomorrow. Ok?"

Eames wanted to get as much done today as possible. She glanced at the clock and said, "Can we work for another two hours? You write the narrative for the photos and I'll start the evidence inventory. We can work through lunch and be done by two, three at the latest."

Bobby knew his partner was right. Gleason said she was tired, she'd be sleeping anyway; neither of them got much sleep last night. Stay and get it done, he told himself.

"Ok, let's get it done."

The pair set to work.

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At the apartment, Gleason checked the lock on the door and went into the bedroom; she was exhausted. She stripped to panties and undershirt and slipped between the sheets; within five minutes, she was sound asleep.

Ten minutes later, the man from the blue car was inside the apartment, opening the black leather tool roll on the kitchen table and removed the replacement hinge pin. He expertly removed the original pin from the cupboard door to the right of the sink, slipped it in his pocket, and inserted the new one – with the omni-directional mike.

He stepped into the living room and slid the button-size camera and mike into the top corner of the tall bookcase; it would show the entire room, from the door, into the kitchen to the opposite corner. He stepped back after positioning it and looked for it, but even he couldn't see it. Thank god that detective swept the whole place the other day; dumb son-of-a-bitch, thinks he's so clever, he said to himself. In all honesty, he was jealous of the detective. He had had a taste of the pretty professor and knew how sweet she could be. He hated the cop because the bastard could have her anytime he wanted.

From the living room, he walked down the hall into the bedroom, stood in the doorway and admired the woman asleep on the bed, imagining what he'd like to do to her. He felt himself begin to stiffen and knew he had to finish and get out of there. The new camera and mike would give him plenty to see and hear. That last bit with the old camera was a priceless piece of work; classic porn humping – front and back. He'd burned a copy for himself before destroying the original like he had been told do.

The man stood at the foot of the bed and considered where to stick the new camera. He wanted to get a good view of everything that might happen on this bed. He pressed the screw-head size camera and mike into the corner of the picture hanging over the dresser. Again, he stepped back and searched, but could not see it.

He turned one more time to study the woman on the bed and felt himself twitch in his trousers. Then he left, considered leaving the front door open just a bit, but then pulled it shut and locked it and drove straight to JFK. Wycoff had one more place to fix.

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	19. Chapter 19

Intentional End

Chapter 19

Saturday Afternoon

October 13

Bobby debated whether to call home before he left OPP, he didn't want to wake Gleason if she was sleeping.

"I'll be back tomorrow about at about ten. I'll, I'll call if that changes," he said to his partner as they closed up for the day. They had gotten a tremendous amount of work done.

"Ok, give my best to Gleason. I'll see you tomorrow."

He nodded and headed to the elevator. Bobby decided to call Gleason as he pulled from the underground parking. He listened to the phone ring. And ring. And ring. Bobby was tempted to pull down the passenger side visor and turn on the blue and reds; but he didn't.

Thirty minutes later, he was pounding up the steps to the fourth floor of his building. He hurried down the hall with his key at the ready, himself in and strode to the bedroom.

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In an apartment in the building behind the Goren's, a monitor lit up as the motion-activated camera in the living room across the alley sprang to life. A second monitor lit up as the camera in the bedroom came on. Drumiester sat up and set aside his magazine.

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Bobby stood watching her sleep, curled on her right side, facing his side of the bed. Slowly his breathing and heart slowed as he stood, watching her. He decided to let her sleep and returned to the kitchen to begin dinner. Honestly, he was leery of waking her, unsure of how she would be.

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After ten minutes of inactivity in the bedroom, the second monitor across the alley blinked off. The camera for the first one, however, recorded every movement in the kitchen. Wonder what he's cooking, the agent wondered and sat forward to watch.

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Bobby prepared pasta with vegetables and a white sauce; he was afraid to prepare a red sauce as it seemed to make Gleason queasy the last time she was throwing up so often, the last time she was – he wouldn't let himself think any further. The kettle just started to sound when he felt her eyes upon him. He turned and looked at her, unsure.

"Are you going to get the kettle," she asked, still in panties and vest.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied and turned to it.

Gleason crossed to him and wrapped her arms around him, leaning against his broad back. "You're so warm," she said with eyes closed.

Bobby poured the water into the tea pot, returned the kettle to the cooker and turned to face her. "Honey?" He didn't mean to make it sound like an inquiry, but that's just what it was. She didn't look up, just held onto him, so he took her head in his hands. "Glea-?"

"Kiss me."

Bobby looked deeply into her eyes and then kissed her, softly at first and then he felt her tongue, making its way into his mouth. Her hand moved to his bulge and caressed gently. It was Bobby's turn to pull away, "Wait, Gleason."

"What? Don't you like that?"

He still wasn't sure who this was, his loving wife or the nasty aggressor. "Yes, Honey, I like it, but –," he hesitated, not knowing what to say.

"What's wrong?" she asked, stepping back. Bobby let go and stepped away as well, unable to look at her. "Bobby?"

He was at a loss, so he did what he did with suspects and reluctant witnesses, he redirected, "Honey, you must be cold. Why don't you get some clothes on and we'll have dinner. Ok?"

She stood and looked at him. Again he watched the string of emotions play subtly over her face – confusion, disappointment, anger, and a strange, fleeting blank look he didn't like at all. "All right," she said simply and went back to the bedroom.

Bobby exhaled, not realising he had been holding his breath. What is going on, he wondered. He filled their plates and was getting a beer for himself and a glass of wine for her when she returned.

"Is this ok?" she asked timidly.

He turned and saw her dressed in jeans and long-sleeved tee shirt, both hung on her. "Honey, that's fine; anything is fine," he answered, looking at her questioningly. Bobby poured her a glass of Silver Birch and opened his bottle, then pulled out her chair, "Come, sit down."

Gleason sat with her hands in her lap and looked at the plate of food. "I'm so hungry. Do we have any bread?" She looked at him expectantly.

"There are a few rolls left from the other night. Do you want those?"

"Yes! And butter." Bobby rose and retrieved both items and Gleason took them eagerly. She dug into the bag, snagged a roll, tore it and spread a thick layer of butter. Bobby watched her devour it. "Oh, this is so good," she said with a full mouth.

"Try some pasta. I think you'll like it."

She nodded, finished the roll and went for another.

"Honey, eat some pasta, you can't just eat bread."

Gleason's hand froze and she slowly pulled it to her chest. Her demeanor changed, and she became timid. "I'm sorry." She took up her fork and began to eat, steadily and fast; she inhaled it.

Bobby reached for her hand and said, "Gleason, slow down. Honey?"

She dropped the fork, swung her head to him, swallowed and then yelled, "What do you want from me! Tell me what you want! I don't know what you want! You keep changing your mind!" She shot up, knocking over the chair and went to the sofa, huddling, rocking. But she didn't cry. Bobby was stunned.

He sat for a minute and then went to her, crouching down, in front of her. "Honey? Gleason, what's wrong?" He reached for her hand and she whipped it away, scrambling up onto the sofa.

"No, don't touch me! Get away!" she screamed and kicked at him; he dodged the blow and moved to his chair, watching her watching him. He needed to get her help now. He went into the bedroom and called information, asked for the number of Dr. George Huang, Manhattan, and had it ring through. It went to voice mail and Bobby left his name and a short message explaining that he had a personal matter that needed the doctor's expertise; he left his number and flipped shut his phone. Bobby shuddered a huge sigh and returned to the living room.

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Across the alley, Drumiester called Wycoff and relayed the phone call he had just witnessed.

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Gleason hadn't moved, she still cowered on her haunches, feet still on the cushion. Bobby went into the kitchen and buttered a roll, then he returned, crouching in front of her and offered it with, "Honey, here, eat this."

She ignored him, rocking. So he continued, "Baby, I know you are hungry. This is a good roll with lots of butter. See?" He felt as though he was trying to coax a toddler or an animal. He moved from his crouch to the sofa's edge so he could look at her directly; and, he wanted her to be able to smell the roll. He sat with it held out to her; but she didn't look at it or him, she had that scary blank look. Slowly Bobby reached for her arm and gently touched her; when she didn't flinch or jerk away, he began to rub up and down, softly, slowly.

"Glea-, here, take this roll so I can go get the other one. Honey? Here, hold this one for me. I need to but butter on the other one." He watched her face – nothing. So, he took her hand and folded her fingers around the roll. She held it. After a few minutes, Gleason slowly closed and opened her eyes, sighed and looked at the roll. She unfolded herself and sat with one leg under her as she ate it.

"Good?" he asked softly. She nodded in response. "Let me get you the other half," and he went to butter the rest of it. He returned to his place beside her and she took it from him, taking a bite and closing her eyes in pleasure.

"Do you want some pasta and vegetables?"

"Huh uh," she said and then added, "Are there more rolls?"

"One more." He prepared it and brought it to her. "Do you want a cup of tea?" She nodded. He got her tea, set it beside her on the end table and went to put away their dinner.

Gleason finished the second roll and the tea. She looked at Bobby as he returned from cleaning up the kitchen. "Can we get ice cream?" she asked.

Bobby wanted to smile, but couldn't. He was beginning to see a pattern in her behaviours – normal, then confusion, then anger, then fear, then catatonia, then normalcy. Her last two incidents had happened in nearly that order. She was back to normalcy right now. He wanted to make it last; and he figured he could now that he recognized the pattern. He would watch for the confusion that would be next and work to return her to normal.

"Of course," he answered and stood, reaching for her.

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They sat quietly at Nero's, each with a sundae. Bobby wanted to bring up postponing her return to Evanston. "Honey, how about if you stay home for a few more days. Let's go back to Evanston next weekend," he said casually, glancing at her in that way.

Gleason stopped short, spoon to lips, and looked at him, "No. No, Bobby, I must go back tomorrow and prepare for my classes." Slowly she lowered the spoon and seemed to be thinking, her brow furrowed, looking at the tabletop. "I need to get back to teaching my classes on Wednesday. I have responsibilities. I need to get back and prepare." Gleason paused, obviously thinking. "I am the professor of record and need to get back to the job I was hired to do." Again, it was as if she was reciting, word-for-word as she did two days ago.

Bobby knew that if he tried to dissuade her here, she would devolve into anger. So, he just nodded and said nothing.

They finished and headed back to the apartment. She reached for his hand and he looked at her with surprise. He gave her hand a squeeze and she glanced up at him. And smiled.

"Can we stop and get some rolls or something? Some kind of bread or something? I'm still hungry," she asked.

"Certainly, Sweetheart," he replied. "Let's go to Irwin's, they have a bakery."

They walked the few blocks and Bobby spent nearly thirty dollars on different kinds of rolls, bagels, various types of bread and wonderful spreads. Gleason was excited and took a roll to nibble on the way home. She seemed so happy, normal. Bobby was on pins and needles.

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Once back at the apartment, Gleason ate slices of bread, rolls and a bagel and drank tea while Bobby ate a warmed up plate of pasta. She seemed so happy, so normal. Bobby was shocked at how much Gleason ate. "Good?" he asked.

"Oh," she said, sitting back in the chair, "I am stuffed."

He smiled at her contentment and thought: well, this will put weight back on her bones. Gleason set the lids on the tubs of spread and butter and closed up the bags holding the bread and rolls, then stood and put the items away. She turned and stood behind Bobby and put her hands on his shoulders, and ran them around to his neck. Her thumbs rubbed the back of his neck and Bobby actually tensed, he thought she was going to strangle him. But she didn't.

Instead, she leaned down and kissed his cheek. Her hands moved down onto his chest and she leaned on his shoulders. "I love you," she whispered next to his ear.

Bobby's hands moved to her forearms and he rubbed gently. "I love you, too, Sweetheart." Gleason licked softly at his ear. Normally, Bobby's penis would have started to stiffen, but not his time. This time, he was fearful, he wasn't sure who was seducing him; and he was exhausted.

"Let's go to bed," she whispered, still at his ear, "I want to make love to you. I want to eat you. Then you eat me and make me come, over and over and over."

He felt nothing, not a tingle, not a twitch. "Honey, I'm, I'm beat. Let's go to bed and get a good night's sleep" He moved forward, letting go of her forearms, feeling her hands drag up and over his chest, shoulders. He stood up and turned to face her.

She stood, arms at her sides, looking at him. "You don't find me attractive anymore?" she asked quietly, sadly.

"No, no! Dear God, Gleason, I love you. You are beautiful, Sweetheart." He stepped t o her and took her arms, looking into her eyes and told her honestly, "Honey, I love you so much."

And he watched her change.

"But not enough to fuck, huh?" She jerked out of his hands, crossed her arms and strode to the bedroom.

The flare of anger was so great, Bobby was tempted to grab her by the arm and yank her back. But he didn't; instead, he shouted, "Gleason! Goddamn it, come back here!"

She ignored him and slammed the bedroom door. Bobby started after her, but stopped in the hallway, a hand on each wall. He couldn't do it, just couldn't do it. He went into the bathroom, finished, and then went back to the kitchen, got the scotch and a glass and stretched out on the sofa.

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Ted was returning from fixing a plugged toilet on the second floor and heard Bobby yell at Gleason. He stopped and listened, but heard nothing more. He shook his head and walked to his own apartment.

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Across the alley, Drumiester sat forward and watched the action on the monitor as though watching a boxing match. You're gonna drink yourself to death, pretty boy, he said to himself.


	20. Chapter 20

Intentional End

Chapter 20

Early Sunday Morning

October 14

Bobby woke having to pee. He sat up off the sofa and his glass rolled off his chest onto the floor. He had had only one drink and fell asleep before he could have another. He set the glass on the end table, put his hands on his knees and stood up. Then he heard her.

"Gleason? Honey, are you all right?" He bent over her sitting on the floor in front of the toilet, and she heaved again. Bobby reached over her for a length of toilet paper; she took it and wiped her mouth. He flushed and wet a washer cloth, wiping her face. "Can you stand up?" She shook her head and heaved again. "Oh, Baby," he whispered sadly.

Finally, the heaves ended and he helped her up. She leaned on the sink and he held her arms; she shivered. "I need to brush my teeth," she whispered hoarsely. He prepared her toothbrush and she took it, brushing lamely. She rinsed her mouth and turned toward the bedroom. "I need to lie down," she still hadn't looked at him. He walked behind her to the bed and helped her in, covering her.

Three minutes later, he climbed in beside her. Gleason snuggled up and curled into him and he held her close. Neither spoke. Eventually, she fell asleep and then he did.

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He woke and glanced at the clock, five-seventeen, then turned over and she wasn't there. Bobby's feet hit the floor and he pulled on his shorts; she wasn't in the bathroom, he found her sitting on the sofa, rocking.

"Honey?" he asked softly. She continued to rock, her green throw around her shoulders. He crossed in front of her and sat beside her, pushing her hair off her shoulder and placing his hand on her neck. "Glea-?"

She shuddered a sigh and looked at him. "Something is wrong with me, Bobby." He waited, knowing more was coming. She looked away and continued, "I, I can't remember things. I'm so cold all the time. I do things to upset you. I get . . . so afraid, but I don't know what I'm afraid of. I'm hungry all the time; I just want bread, though, with lots of butter." She was quiet a moment and then continued softly, "I ate a lot of bread when I was, when – last year." She looked at him and their silent stares said everything. "I have to go back today." She felt him tense and repeated, "I have to, Bobby. I do, it's all arranged."

"What do you mean, 'it's all arranged'? What's arranged?"

He watched her think and then she said, "I have a ticket, an electronic ticket, Metro-Air flight 631 at two o'clock to O'Hare. I have to go back today." She turned to face him, "You cannot come with me. You have to stay here. I have to go by myself."

"No, no, I don't think you are well enough to go."

"I have to go, Bobby! I have to! They said I have to be back by Sunday night. I have to be back."

He felt her anxiety rise and debated whether to continue, "Who told you? Gleason, who told you?"

She started to say something and then stopped, "I, I can't – I can't tell you. I – don't know. What time is it?" She went to stand, but Bobby held onto her.

"Gleason, who told you that you had to be back by tonight?"

She jerked out of his grip, stood and turned, ready to scream at him; but she didn't. She closed her eyes and then opened them and said, "I'm going back to bed. Come with me," and she reached for his hand. He sat staring up at her and she repeated softly, "Come with me." He stood and followed her down the hall.

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Drumiester dozed in the apartment across the alley but roused when the alarm sounded as the monitor blinked on. He watched and listened to the couple in the living room in the next building. When he saw them enter the bedroom, he flipped open his phone and reported that the woman had remembered the flight but had revealed nothing else. He shut his phone and then settled in to watch the man and woman in the bedroom; he hoped they were ripe for a little 'joy in the morning.'

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Bobby held the up covers and Gleason crawled in from his side. He was surprised to see her remove her nightgown. "Take those off," she told him. And he did.

Gleason lay down and Bobby took his place, up on his left elbow, right hand going to her neck, face, jaw, mouth; and his mouth followed suit. Her arms snaked around him and her legs opened to him. His hands moved over her breasts; they're so full, he thought. "I will love you, Bobby. Forever. Don't ever forget that," she whispered.

Bobby looked at her, unsure of what that meant; he thought it had an ominous tone. She pulled his head to hers and they kissed, his tongue lapping hers. His hand moved to her place and he poked gently, a finger on her clit, pressing slightly as it circled. She moaned softly and opened wider. "Lick me. Lick my pussy," she breathed.

His hardening cock jerked at those words, and he moved between her thighs. "Lick it," she said with some desperation. He slid down on the sheet and set his thumbs on either side of her labia.

She felt his hot breath on her place and arched toward his mouth, wanting him to eat her. Slowly, Bobby dragged his tongue over her opening and she moaned from her throat. He flicked at her clit and licked up and down her slit. Then, he shot his tongue as far as it would go, waggled it and then nibbled her clit with his teeth. Gleason cried out and grabbed his hair.

He had to get on his knees as his dick pressed painfully between his belly and the bed. He spread his knees and the head rubbed tantalizingly against the sheet. His hips began to move. God, that feels good! He set his whole mouth over her place and sucked, swallowed, and then drew his tongue over it all. He pushed with the tip of his tongue and lapped with the breadth of it.

Gleason's hips pressed against his mouth, pushing and pulling, trying to fuck herself on his tongue. Short, fast, deep, sounds came from her throat – she was going to come. "Suck my clit! Suck it! Oh, god, fuck, fuck me!" She pulled his hair as he drove his tongue in and out of her, his tongue tip rubbing her clit as his finger does. Gleason climaxed with a feral cry and bucked against his face.

Bobby squirted onto the sheet, and then stopped himself. He continued to lick, suck and rub until she settled. He wiped his mouth, chin, and jaw with the sheet and looked up from between her legs.

Gleason panted as she settled and reached for him. "Here, come here."

Bobby crept up in the bed and she slid way down. "Let me eat you this way," she said. "Kneel over me." Oh god, he thought as he straddled her head and then bent forward, palms flat.

Gleason lay under him, his cock hung down, in her face. She reached up and clutched it, both hands softly running up and down its length. Bobby arched and groaned. Gleason pulled her pillow under her head and guided his dick into her mouth. She breathed around it, not touching.

"Jesus Christ!" he grunted. This was incredible! His dick was heavy and long and it hung freely. He'd never done this before, and he liked it – a lot.

She flicked the tip of the head with her tongue and he jolted, then she took the head in her mouth and sucked just the end as one would a straw. She licked it and slowly, slowly began to suck her way up its length.

Her hands cupped his large, suede-like sack and fondled the balls within. She was surprised at its weight and imagined him carrying that around all day. Her fingers stroked and caressed the unbelievably smooth bag and its goodies – apricots in a velvet pouch. She continued to suck and lick.

Bobby's eyes shut tight and his mouth hung open. "Ungh." "Ungh." "Ungh." His hips began to move as though he were fucking her mouth.

Gleason's hands moved from his sack down over his thighs and reached around, sliding up and down. Bobby's legs instinctively spread further apart, making his bottom accessible as well. Her hands slid over his tight butt and her fingers stroked between his cheeks, seeking his button.

"Oh, fuck! Fuck!" Bobby groaned and then hissed as she found her mark. So lightly, slowly her fingers stroked over his pucker. His head shot up and then dropped down and his hips began to move in earnest. "Glea-! Jesus Christ, Glea-!"

His words, sounds, made her suck harder. She made her mouth juicy as he slid in and out faster and faster, harder and harder. She knew he was close. With her finger rubbing gently on his button, Gleason hummed around his cock as it dove into her mouth and into her throat.

Bobby shoved and stayed, crying out like an animal, his head up, his cock pumping hot fluid down his wife's throat. Gleason swallowed and again as his orgasm rocked his body. Finally, he stopped, pulled his pipe-like dick from her mouth and rolled off her, "Are you ok?" he asked with some alarm, gasping for breath. "Glea-? Honey, are you all right?"

She rolled onto her side, away from him with her hands to her mouth and gagged twice, but held it. She dragged in air through her nose and let it out through her mouth. His hand was on her shoulder, "Gleason, look at me," he panted. She turned onto her back and looked at him, hands still at her mouth. "Are you ok?" he asked, his face showing worry and pain. She nodded and he slumped with relief.

He pulled up her pillow and helped her slide back up the bed, then pulled the covers over them both. He pushed her hair away from her face, smoothing it with his hands, his breathing slowing to normal. She lay beside him, watching him as he tended to her. He looked down into her face, "Jesus Christ, Gleason, that was, that was – unbelievable."

She moved her hands from her mouth and put the back of her right hand against his chest, feeling the sparse, curly silver hairs between her fingers. "I love you, Bobby, I do and I want to please you." Gleason paused and stared at her hand moving over his chest. She watched as his breathing returned to normal, and slid her hand over his heart, feeling it throb under the skin. "Don't ever think I don't love you. No matter what, I love you." She looked at his face and said, "There's never been a time when I didn't. You know that, right?"

Bobby didn't know what to make of this. What is she saying, he wondered. "I know that, Sweetheart, I know you love me." He searched her face and then said, softly, "Glea-, why are you telling me this?"

"I need to tell you so you'll know. I want to be sure you know that I have always loved you and always will, forever." She smiled up at him and her hand went behind his neck and pulled him toward her. Their kiss was soft and gentle, loving.

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Across the alley, Drumiester sat sporting a woody like never before. Holy Christ! He shifted in his chair and really needed to take care of this, this one wasn't going to go away by itself. He rubbed himself and then undid his belt, lowered his zipper, scootched down his trousers and briefs and took matters into his own hands.

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Bobby lay back beside her and said, "Honey, I want you to see a doctor." He hesitated and then continued, "I think, Glea-, I think you may be pregnant."

She sighed and said, "I know. I will. In Evanston, this week."

Bobby wanted to know how pregnant she was – when did it happen. _How_ did it happen? "Sweetheart, you've been taking your birth control pills, haven't you?"

She didn't say anything for a long minute, then, "Sometimes."

His head turned to look at her, "Why not all the time? You need to take them every day."

Gleason reached for his hand and held tight. "Sometimes, I think it would be ok for us to have a baby." She thought of all that Bobby's mother had said to her; she thought of the child, Christian, his mother would see and talk with. Gleason didn't want to tell Bobby that she still believed that the boy was the child she had miscarried. She didn't want to tell him that she wanted to have that child.

They lay quietly. Slowly, like wisps of fog blowing into a field, Gleason's dream took shape. Without realising it, her breathing increased.

Bobby felt the change and looked at her, "Honey?" He watched the play of emotions over her face, "Glea-, what's wrong?" He got up on his elbow again. "Gleason, look at me."

Her eyes moved to his and she said, "I had a dream the other night. A bad dream. That little boy, Christian, he was crying, lost. And I couldn't find him."

Bobby's lips shut tight as her words brought back his dream, the same dream. They had had the same dream, again. It was Gleason's turn to recognise the subtle change in Bobby's demeanour. "What?" she asked. Then she knew, "You had the same dream, didn't you?"

Bobby lay back again and set his hands on his chest, fingertips resting. Gleason got up on her right elbow and looked down at him, "We had the same dream. Just like before." He stared at the ceiling. "Bobby, he's our son. He's lost without your mother to give him hope. He's frightened; in the dream he thought we didn't want him." She was working herself up.

He looked at her and said, "Gleason, it was just a dream. The child was a hallucination, that's all. We both felt bad about the miscarriage and the dream is a manifestation of that guilt." He was feeling anxious and feared another explosion was on the horizon. He didn't want her to get upset, because this morning was too important. He glanced at the clock, six twenty-nine.

"Come on, we both need to shower."

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Across the alley, Drumiester grunted out his orgasm and spewed short jets of cum into the paper napkin he had grabbed at the last second. He sat panting, then wiped himself and set the sticky wet napkin back on the table. He hiked up his briefs and trousers and hoped he hadn't missed anything important. He made a mental note to burn a copy of that segment for himself and jotted down the approximate time.


	21. Chapter 21

Intentional End

Chapter 21

Sunday Morning

October 14

Bobby was torn. He did not want Gleason to return to Evanston today or anytime soon; and, he certainly did not want her to go alone. But, he knew what would happen if he tried to stop her. If she was going, he was going with her; but, that meant taking off a few days and Deakins and Eames would have his ass for that. That meant she was going back to Evanston alone, this afternoon. His gut burned as he sliced the loaf of sourdough.

"Oh, that shower felt so good," she said as she made the turn from the hallway. Bobby said nothing. "What time do you have to leave," she asked.

"Do you want this toasted?"

"No, just soft is good."

Bobby set the plate of bread at her place and went to the fridge for the butter and spreads and orange juice.

"Oh, you cut them good and thick," she said appreciably, eyeing the plate.

Gleason set the teapot on the table and sat, reaching for a slice, "I'm not going to overdo it like I did last night. Ugh, that was horrible. All that good bread, wasted." Bobby poured the juice, set them on the table and then he sat. He got right back up, retrieved a blueberry bagel for himself, and sat again.

"What time do you have to leave," she asked again, her attention on the butter she spread.

"I told Eames I'd be in at ten. I don't want you to go back today."

Gleason stopped spreading and looked at him. He glanced at her in that way and didn't move, waiting for what came next.

She set down the bread and knife and put her hands in her lap, then looked away, thinking. "I have to go back today. It's all arranged." She paused and then continued, "I have an electronic ticket, Metro-Air flight 631 at two o'clock to O'Hare. I have to go back today." She looked at him, "You cannot come with me. You have to stay here. I have to go by myself. They said I have to be back by Sunday night. I have to be back."

Bobby recognised the words from the night before – a recitation from a script. The change in her character indicated that she was recollecting what to say; she seemed programmed to reply to certain topics or situations in predetermined ways. Someone was controlling her responses.

"What if I said no?" He watched the nearly imperceptible changes on her face – confusion, fear, confusion again, and that robotic-like blank look. And then she blew.

Gleason shot to her feet and screamed at him, "I HAVE to go! I have to! They said I have to be back by tonight!" She slammed her fists on the tabletop and then pushed back her chair, knocking it over. She strode to the sofa, sat, wrapped her arms across her chest and rocked.

Bobby's head began to pound. He recounted the steps in her behaviour pattern – she had been normal, then the confusion as she recalled what to say, here was the anger, fear was next. He didn't know what to do, so he sat and watched her.

She was seething, he could see it. Suddenly, Gleason was on her feet, she turned to face him, still at the kitchen table, and she screamed, "I AM GOING AND YOU ARE STAYING HERE!" She glared at him. "Do you understand?" she yelled. He did nothing. "ANSWER ME!"

Still he did nothing, just sat and watched, and it worked. Bobby watched his wife's face and saw the change again; her whole body seemed to relax as confusion supplanted anger, offsetting the coming fear. The fingers of both hands went to her lips and she looked away, searching for something, perhaps how to respond.

"Honey, come sit down," he said softly. He didn't want to approach her for fear of triggering her fear, the next behaviour in her pattern. However, he thought, the pattern may have broken by substituting the confusion for the fear.

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Across the alley, Drumiester, who had been watching through the night hollered, "Yeah, in here," to his replacement.

"Get anything?" Robinson asked.

"Some stuff. Watch this," he said, nodding to the first monitor, showing the couple in the living room and kitchen. "I think that detective has figured out her response string. She just exploded and she should devolve into the fear sequence, but he's not done anything to activate it; he's just sitting there. Look at her; she's drifting back into confusion. Son-of-a-bitch, he's figured it out." Drumiester slid back the chair and stood. "This is not good," he said, "I need to call Wycoff."

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Bobby rose slowly but didn't move otherwise, continuing to watch her. "Honey, Glea-, come here. Let me hold you," he spoke softly, steadily. Only then did he take a step. "Come here, Sweetheart, you're hungry. Let's eat. Come on, come here." He paused between each sentence; again, speaking to her as one would a child and he took another step.

Gleason's eyes met his and she sought to recognise him. She sighed and then looked at the table. Her hands left her lips and hung at her side. Bobby continued to walk slowly toward her.

"The tea is getting cold. Let's sit and have our breakfast." He was in front of her and reached slowly for her arm; she didn't jerk away. "Are you hungry?" She looked back at him and nodded. "I am, too; come on, let's eat." He guided her around to her chair, set it upright and she sat.

Gleason took her cup and sipped. "I'm so hungry, Bobby." It was as if nothing had happened, she was back to normalcy. Bobby stood behind her chair and leaned on it, squeezing shut his eyes for a moment. Then he took his seat and wondered when Huang was going to return his call.

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Drumiester called his boss, Wycoff, who then called _his_boss, Peterson, "Yeah, she's prepared to head back this afternoon, that's not the problem. The problem is, the cop husband figured out her response sequence. He needs to leave in an hour to get to work; but chances are excellent he's not going in. If he doesn't go in, he might screw with her sequence. He's a smart son-of-a-bitch, he'll do it."

Wycoff listened to Peterson berate him for not correctly wiping the linguist's memory in the first place.

"Yeah, I know – I fucked up. What do you want me to do?" he replied with attitude. He listened and breathed a sigh of relief when his boss came to the same conclusion Wycoff had when the bitch first came home. "Ok, yeah, if that's what you want. No problem."

Wycoff and Peterson clicked off, and Wycoff returned to the bedroom; Suzy, or whatever her name was, hadn't moved.

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Think of the devil and he calls, Bobby's cell rang and he stood to get it from the end table. "Goren."

"Detective, George Huang. I hope it is not too early to call."

Bobby wandered down the hall, out of Gleason's earshot, and stood in the bedroom doorway. "No, no, thanks for getting back to me. Listen, I, I wonder if I can have a few minutes of your time. I have a situation that I, that's concerning me and I'm at a loss. Is that possible, to speak with you?"

Huang listened and then thought of the phone call he had whilst at Bellevue last night. He had been at the hospital interviewing a suspect when summoned to the phone; which was unusual, as protocol dictated no interruptions during an interview. The call had been confusing and disturbing, to say the least; however, it made sense when he picked up Bobby's message at home hours later. Huang hesitated and then said, "Can I see you at your office?"

Bobby did not want to leave Gleason alone; however, he couldn't talk with the psychiatrist with her nearby. She said she was leaving and was adamant about it. "Uh, yeah, sure, I have to go in anyway. Is ten ok?"

"Ten is perfect. I'll see you then," and Huang clicked off.

Bobby slowly flipped shut his phone and stood for a minute. He did not want to leave her, he did not; but he had no choice. He returned to the kitchen and Gleason watched him sit, and she waited.

"Who called?" she asked softly.

"Uh, George Huang."

"The SVU psychiatrist? Why did he call you? At home?" Her anxiety rose.

"It's, it's about a case, Honey, he's consulting on a case." God, he hated lying to her.

He watched her surreptitiously and picked up his bagel, separated the halves, then reached for his knife and the cream cheese. He felt her eyes upon him.

Gleason's mind raced. She thought he was lying to her and struggled to make sense of what this might mean, but couldn't pull together a coherent strand of thought. She caught bits of idea but they slid away as fast as she was aware of them. Why can't I think, she wondered, why can't I remember? What is wrong with me? Her frustration and anxiety increased and so did her breathing. Gleason put both hands flat on the table surface and sat up straight.

Bobby glanced at her and saw her distress, "Gleason, what's wrong?"

Her fingers curled onto the tablecloth and she clutched it and began to whimper escalating into a scream. Bobby was on his feet and held her, she wouldn't let go of the tablecloth and she wouldn't stop screaming. "Gleason, Honey, stop! It's ok, stop screaming! Gleason!" On and on she screamed.

Becky heard the screams from across the hall and shouted to Ted in the bathroom, "Gleason's screaming! Did you hear me? Something's happening in Bobby's apartment."

Ted stepped from the bathroom, zipping his trousers, and heard the woman scream. At that moment, the phone rang and Becky went to answer it. Ted started for the door and then headed across the hall to Bobby and Gleason's place. The screaming seemed to increase. He pounded on their door, "Bobby! It's me, Ted. Open up."

Bobby tried to calm her to no avail; she had crumpled to the floor, pulling the tablecloth and everything on it with her. Bobby dashed to the door, unlocked it and returned to Gleason, now kicking and flailing. The fear response had arrived in a big way.

"Bobby, is she all right? What happened?" Ted asked entering the kitchen. "Gleason, what's wrong." Bobby struggled with her and then Ted said sternly, "Get away from her. Bobby, let her go."

The way he said it made Bobby look up at his neighbor and friend. Ted continued, "You heard me, get away from her." Gleason continued to scream and thrash. Becky walked in and stood watching, aghast.

"Ted, she's, she's out of control; help me," Bobby answered with desperation.

Ted pulled his cell, dialed 9-1-1, waited and then said, "I need the police and an ambulance. There's a woman having a real problem here, she's, uh, having some ki–," and Bobby stood, stepped over Gleason and ripped the phone from Ted's hand.

"This is Detective Robert Goren of MCNYPD; I need a bus at 250 West 45th, apartment four-B. My wife is having some kind of seizure, or, or breakdown." He gave the operator his badge number and then began the assessment of her condition. Bobby answered questions whilst Ted tried to catch Gleason's arms and legs and Becky looked on. Gleason's screams slowed to sobs and wails and she stopped flaying. Mrs. Ziegler, from next door peeked in and entered, standing beside Bobby's chair in the living room, hand to her mouth.

Gleason lay limp on the floor, gasping and sobbing. Ted stood up and removed the fallen kitchen chair. "Beck, help me with this mess," he said to his wife. Bobby thanked the emergency operator and went to kneel by his wife. He cradled her head on his thighs as his neighbors picked up the breakfast from the floor. The door buzzer sounded and Mrs. Ziegler pushed the button, unlocking the lobby door, the apartment door stood open. The EMTs pounded up the steps and Mrs. Ziegler stepped into the hallway to usher them in.

Ted and Becky stepped aside as the EMTs went to Gleason and began to assess. The third EMT recognised Bobby, and the address, from his previous two visits, one a year ago for a miscarriage and the second for a heart problem; this lady has shitty health, he thought. He told Bobby to set down her head and stand up, as he needed to take information. Bobby answered and explained, and then went to get her heart pills from the bathroom.

Ted and Becky finished picking up the food and things, and then Becky whispered that she was going to take Mrs. Ziegler back to her apartment and would wait for Ted at theirs. He nodded and Becky went to the older woman sitting on the sofa, watching.

Their appraisal complete, the EMTs loaded Gleason onto the stretcher, covered and belted her. "We're going to Bellevue," the one announced as they lifted the stretcher and the legs dropped down.

"No, uh, not Bellevue. Take her to Methodist General. Please." Bobby knew that Gleason would receive better care at Methodist as the psych ward was smaller and the attention less generalised.

"Whatever you say," the one said and they headed out.

Bobby moved to get his phone and money clip when Ted asked, "Do you want me to go with you?"

Bobby stopped and put his hands to his face and fought tears. He lowered his hands and replied, barely above a whisper, "No, no." He looked at the other man and continued, "Ted, thanks," he wanted to say more, but just repeated, "thanks."

Ted nodded and left. Bobby called Eames, explained what had happened and apologised. He said he would be in as soon as he could, but not to count on it. She said she understood and they hung up. Bobby stood a moment and then walked back to the bedroom for his money clip, took his keys and left, locking the door behind him.

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"Holy shit, she broke," Robinson announced when Gleason started to scream, "Call Wycoff back."

"I don't think it was a break, I think it's the fear response that should have occurred earlier. She's programmed pretty tightly.""Yeah, but they're taking her to the psych ward at Methodist. They'll be able to tell that she's been programmed. Call Wycoff."

Drumiester did not want to call his boss again; Wycoff was pissed the first time. But, he knew his boss would want to know about her being hospitalised. "You call him, I'm off the clock," and with that, the agent walked through the empty apartment and out the door.

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Wycoff was humping away at Suzy-or-what's-her-name when his cell rang again. He ignored it and continued humping, wishing this bitch would give some indication that she was enjoying it; he needed that to finish. The phone continued to ring. "Are you going to get that?" she asked. And he was done – withering like a deflating balloon.

"Fuck!" he spat and rolled off her onto the edge of the bed and grabbed his cell, "_What_!" he screamed.

"Uh, uh, they took her in an ambulance," Robinson said in a rush.

"_What_?"

"That woman we're watching, she had some kind of breakdown, Drumiester thinks it was just the delayed fear response, but anyway, she freaked and started screaming and the neighbour guy came over and they called an ambulance." He waited for the boss's response.

Wycoff was furious, for two reasons, but right now he was furious at that fucking woman and her goddamn fucking cop husband. He thought a minute and then asked, "Where'd they take her?"

"Methodist General."

"How long ago?"

"Just now."

Wycoff thought again and then said, "Ok," and hung up. He sat a moment thinking.

"We gonna finish or what," Suzy-somebody asked.

He looked over his shoulder and said, "Get out."


	22. Chapter 22

Intentional End

Chapter 22

Sunday Morning

October 14

Bobby drove to Methodist General, his mind awash with random thoughts. He had spent his whole childhood and adolescence living with a crazy woman and it seemed he would continue to do so as a husband. He was able to ferret out the sequence in Gleason's behaviour from years of tracking his mother's sequences. Bobby learned early to recognise the subtle changes in expression, breathing, stance and this ability helped make him the detective he was.

He knew his wife was not crazy and certainly not schizophrenic. Gleason's oddities early in their relationship stemmed from her upbringing and Clive's abuse. But this, this was different.

He was certain she had been programmed not to reveal any details from the work she had done. She'd been in Russia, which explained the sudden speaking of it. Pushtovkin, in the upper tundra . . . he needed to research that.

Bobby pulled into the emergency lot and entered the ER.

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"You get her and get this over with, do you hear me?" Peterson was out of his mind. This one woman had caused the department more time, anxiety, and money than any other recruit. Jesus! Malcolm Conway had been a piece of cake, not that he had contributed anything to the expedition; nevertheless, he had wiped clean in one try. That Sutton fellow had posed a problem, too, but not like this. Of course, they had fixed that problem before it got out of hand. _This_ was out of hand.

Wycoff flipped shut his phone and checked his watch, then prepared for his afternoon.

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"You can go back and see her, Mr. Wintermantle; she's in bay seven, through those doors."

Bobby nodded and waited for the controlled-access doors to open, then stepped through. He found Gleason and was shocked to see George Huang by her side.

"Detective," he said softly.

"Doctor Huang! What are you doing here, I, forgot to let you know. . ." Bobby stammered, stealing looks at his wife.

"Detective Eames informed me when I arrived at your office." Both men looked at the woman asleep before them. "What happened?"

"Uh, this, this is what I wanted to speak with you about. She's, uh, she's been . . .," Bobby stopped and had to take several deep breaths, he was fighting tears.

"Detective, let's talk outside," Huang put a gentle hand on the tall man's upper arm.

"No! No, I need to stay with her; they might come for her. I, I can't leave her," Bobby said urgently. "I can't leave," Bobby set a hand on the blanket covering Gleason and held onto her shin.

Huang looked at Bobby and the pieces started to fall in place. His use of 'they' made sense in light of last evening's phone call. "Let me speak to someone. I'll make sure she's safe and then we can talk outside." He wasn't sure the detective even heard him.

The doctor left and Bobby stared at the only woman he would ever love. He stepped to her head and ran his palm over her forehead, the back of his hand over her cheek.

"Excuse me; I need to get her vitals," a male nurse said, whipping back the curtain. "Please step outside."

"I'm staying," Bobby replied.

The nurse gave Bobby a disdainful look, clipped an O2 monitor onto Gleason's left index finger and proceeded to take her temperature, blood pressure, and the rest whilst Bobby stood aside and observed.

"All set," Dr. Huang said, returning to Bobby's side. "A guard will be posted here and nothing will happen. Since she's calm now, she will probably go to a medical room and they will monitor her." Huang looked at the woman and was eager to get the detective outside. "Come on, Detective, let's go outside."

Bobby was reluctant to go, but agreed when the security guard appeared. Bobby looked at Gleason one more time and followed the short doctor through the doors and outside.

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After four more phone calls and much discussion, Wycoff made the decision to abort the second abduction. No way was that maniac husband of hers going to let her out of his sight tonight or anytime soon. The whole plan was set back until she was back in Evanston. Now Wycoff had to call Peterson and inform him of the change of plans. The boss was not going to like this.

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Huang and Bobby sat together on a bench; Bobby sat forward, his head in his hands, wondering where to begin. And then Huang shocked him.

"I cannot help you, Detective."

Bobby's head shot up and he said, "What? Why not?"

Huang stood and said sadly, "I cannot help you. Let this play out. You cannot make a difference. It has to happen as it will."

Bobby could not believe what the most respected shrink in the NYPD was telling him. "They got to you, didn't they? What did they tell you?" The doctor looked away. "You have to help me. I don't know what to do. Please."

Huang wanted nothing more than to help this man, but he had been warned and he was smart enough to believe what he had been told. Huang knew that what these people were doing was wrong and he hated himself for not being strong enough to help his colleague; but, he was no fool, he also knew what they were capable of. Besides, it was fruitless to try and convince Goren of anything; his reputation for tenacity was legendary.

"I am sorry, Detective."

Bobby stood up and put his hand on the other man's shoulder, "Please, what have they done to her? That's all, tell me that. Is she going to recover? Will she ever be the same? Just tell me." Bobby looked down at the psychiatrist with pleading eyes.

"Detective, I, I really am sorry. Forgive me." And Dr. Huang turned and walked away.

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"Are you shitting me?! Absolutely not! You take care of this now, today. Do you understand me? Today, Wycoff, today!" Peterson smacked shut his phone and threw it across the room. Then, he crossed and picked it up from behind the sofa table just as Marian came down the steps.

"Who were you yelling at?" she asked.

"The ass-hole."

Marian chuckled, "What did he do this time?"

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Bobby sat on the bench for several minutes, elbows on knees, hands wringing, mind spinning. He had never felt so alone. He honestly didn't know what to do. Then, his cell rang, "Goren."

"Bobby, it's me. How is she?"

"Eames. She's, uh, she's quiet now, asleep."

Neither partner said anything; then Bobby asked, "Is Deakins pissed?"

"He's not been in. So, no."

Another long silence which Bobby broke with a soft, "Are you?"

Eames didn't respond right away, "No, Bobby, I'm not upset. I'm just worried about you. You and Gleason."

"We'll, we'll be ok. Listen, if they keep her, and they probably will, I'll come in this evening. Leave what you want me to do on my desk. If, if they let her come home, I'll stop by and pick it up. Ok?"

"Bobby, forget it; I've got it covered. Just take care of Gleason. And yourself. Call me tomorrow and let me know how she is."

Bobby had to take a minute to steady himself, "Alex, thank you. Thanks for understanding. For taking care of everything. Thank you."

Eames heard her partner stifle a sob, "I'll talk to you tomorrow. Get some rest."

Bobby slipped his phone into his pocket and sat on the bench with his thumbs under his chin and fingers steepled against his face. He had to find someone to help him. They had gotten to Deakins and Huang; but not Eames.

Bobby stood and returned to the ER.

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Wycoff had never disobeyed an order and did not want to start, but he knew he was right to wait. This would probably be the end of his career, and he didn't particularly care. He would submit his resignation anyway and go into private service. He had had it with Peterson and the rest of it. Fuck it, he thought and dialed the nine hundred sex-line number from memory.

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Bobby waited at the controlled-access door until someone noticed him and opened it. He walked through and headed for bay seven, where Gleason lay. He rounded the corner and found the bay empty.

"Where's my wife?!" he said to the nurse he grabbed going by, "Where is she? She was right here. Where is she?" He was near panic.

"Calm down, sir, calm down. Let me find out. She may be off having tests. Stay right here. I'll see where she is."

Bobby's hands went to his face and he turned, looking for her. Jesus Christ, they took her! I knew I shouldn't have left her. I knew it! The guard, where's that guard? The nurse was taking too long and Bobby found her at the nurses' station waiting for someone to finish on the phone. "Did you find out where she is? A guard was posted to keep an eye on her."

"We're looking for her now. This person is checking. Just wait," the nurse replied kindly.

Bobby ran his left hand over the top of his head and down the back of his neck. He couldn't keep still. His right hand went over his mouth. He kept turning around, searching. "Where's that guard? You know, that security guard who was supposed to watch her. Where is he?"

"Sir, please. Give us a moment."

The person on the phone hung up and said to Bobby and the nurse, "She's been admitted to a medical room, 602. You can go up and see her."

Bobby nearly slumped with relief, "Thank you, thank you." He turned, looking for the elevators.

"Around the corner, down the hall, on your left," the person behind the desk said.

He started off and the two nurses just shook their heads.

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Bobby found room 602 and entered. She was in the first bed, asleep. He stood at the foot and thanked God. He went to the side and pulled up the chair, sat, and set his left ankle over his right knee. He slouched with his left elbow on the arm of the chair and chewed on his thumb.

"Oh, hello."

Bobby looked up at the doctor standing in the doorway and stood. "Hi, I'm Robert Goren, her husband. Are you, are you her doctor?" Bobby stuck out his hand and the men shook.

"Dr. Stuart, her neurologist. What happened, exactly, why did you bring her in?" The doctor dragged over the other chair and they sat.

For the next twenty minutes, Bobby told it all – every detail, including his call to Dr. Fairchild and her refusal to see Gleason. He also shared his theories about what was going on. It felt so good to tell someone, to give it to someone. Dr. Stuart listened without interruption.

When Bobby finished, the men sat quietly and then Dr. Stuart said, "Well, that is fascinating. You wife's file showed she had seen Dr. Fairchild following the miscarriage. I spoke with Dr. Fairchild about your wife before coming up to see her." The doctor stood and then said, "As soon as you wife wakes up, I'm going to release her." Bobby looked up at him in disbelief.

"What? You're going to release her? _Why_? Don't you need to do tests?" Then he knew – "They told you to leave her alone, didn't they?" Bobby stood and his gut burned.

"Mr. Goren, your wife is fine; there is no reason to keep her. This is an informed medical decision based on assessments of her well-being and insurance recommendations. That's all, nothing sinister." The doctor spoke sincerely, professionally.

If the insane events of the previous days hadn't shaped his reality, Bobby would have believed him and been grateful. He put his hands to his face again and two-stepped in a box, not knowing what to say, what to do.

The doctor watched the detective pace and was eager to leave; he wanted to get this woman out of his hospital and to forget all about these two. "She should be awake within the hour. I'll get the discharge papers ready and you'll be ready to take her home as soon as she is awake." The doctor turned and left. It was one o'clock in the afternoon.


	23. Chapter 23

Intentional End

Chapter 23

Early Sunday Evening

October 14

"Bobby?" Gleason called from the bedroom and he was on his feet and down the hall in a heartbeat.

"Glea-, Honey!" he stopped in the bedroom doorway, and then continued to her side of the bed and sat, "Sweetheart, hi. How do you feel?"

She struggled to sit up and put a hand to her head. "I feel funny. And I have to pee."

"Come on, let's go to the bathroom. Are you hungry?"

Gleason put her feet on the floor and he helped her up. "Yeah, but I feel queasy, too."

"Come on, Sweetheart."

Bobby left her at the bathroom and continued to the kitchen where he put on the kettle and set the bags of rolls and bread on the table. He prepared the tea pot and set out dishes and knives.

"Do you want orange juice?" he said as she entered the kitchen.

She didn't reply, but sat in her chair, looking very confused. Bobby's gut clenched, here we go, he thought. Slowly, she turned and looked at the kitchen clock – five-fifty-seven. He watched the play of emotions again and she streaked straight to fear.

"Oh my God! I need to go, I need to be in Chicago!" She shot up and turned and Bobby had her by the arms. "Let me go, Bobby, I need to be back. Let me go!" She was escalating and the screaming was next.

"Baby, Baby, it's ok. I spoke with them, it's ok. Honey, they said it's ok. Gleason, listen to me. It's ok." He turned her and bent to look into her eyes, "I talked with them and they said it was ok that you weren't back tonight." God, he hoped this works.

She searched his face and calmed. "You, you talked to them?"

"Yes, Honey, I told them that you would be back next week and they said they understood." He watched her struggle to comprehend.

"They said it was ok? They weren't angry?"

"Here, sit down. Sit down, Sweetheart," he pulled out her chair and she sat down hard. His heart broke watching her confusion. He had to lie to her to keep her calm, and he loathed lying to her.

"When, when did you talk with them?" She looked at him and he couldn't look at her, he didn't want her to see his guilt in the lie.

"This afternoon." He took a loaf of bread from the table, turned to the counter and busied himself slicing it. He didn't think she would pursue that line of thought; he didn't think she could. "How about some sliced tomato and cheese with your bread?" he asked, setting the bread on the table. "Hmmm?"

Gleason was lost in thought, unable to follow a single line. "I don't have to be back tonight?"

The kettle began to sound and he turned to pour it, ignoring her last question. He wanted her to lose the strands of that concept. "How about some tomato and cheese?"

She looked up at him and nodded.

They ate and said little. Bobby cleaned up the kitchen and then the couple sat on the sofa, Gleason with her head in his lap. Bobby stroked her head and chewed his left thumb. He wondered what he would do tomorrow.

She had fallen asleep and two hours later, his leg was getting numb, "Glea-, let's go to bed. Honey, wake up." He stroked her head and slowly she roused and sat up. And promptly dashed for the bathroom.

Christ, she's pregnant and losing her mind. He was beyond exhaustion and ready to give up.

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Early Monday Morning

October 15

He laid in the dark trying to decide whether to go to work or stay home with Gleason. He had to go in, the pilot's wife was going to be arraigned and then he and Eames were going to begin the interviews.

Maybe if he called her every hour, checked on her. Or, maybe Estella would come and stay with Gleason. No, Estella had been stand-offish ever since he screamed at her that morning after a night of drinking. He'd apologised profusely, but the damage was done. His drinking had ruined a lot of things. Maybe Becky would stay with Gleason. Maybe he should just call off again and take it on the chin with Deakins and Eames. He didn't know what to do. The alarm clock went off, he shut it off and he dropped back onto his pillow.

Gleason said over her shoulder, "You should get going, Love." She sounded so normal.

He turned his head and then rolled to embrace her – cautiously. "Good morning," he murmured into her neck. "How do you feel?"

Gleason turned and faced him, "I'm ok. I feel wonderful in fact. How are you?"

Bobby stared at her, something was different – she was herself. Gleason grinned at him and said, "What are you looking at?"

Bobby smiled and replied, "My beautiful wife." His hand went to her neck and he kissed her. Her tongue met his and her hand moved over his back.

"Make love to me," she said softly. And he did.

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"I'll call you. Every hour, ok?"

"Yes, Love, every hour."

"Swear you'll stay here. Please, Gleason, don't leave. Please." Bobby pleaded with Gleason, hands on her arms, bending to look her in the eyes.

"I'll stay, I will."

He did not want to leave her. He did not want to leave her. "I have to go. I love you."

"I love you, too, forever. Now go. I'll talk to you in an hour." She kissed him and he looked at her with worry and dread and then left.

Gleason and Bobby spoke at nine, ten and eleven as planned. When they spoke at noon, Gleason told him she was going to have some lunch and then take a nap; she would call him when she woke up. Bobby didn't like this, but said nothing; he agreed to wait for her call and wished her sweet dreams.

At half past noon, Gleason gathered her phone charger, heart pills and throw, adjusted her wrap around her, and headed out.

At two-twenty, she was in the air, on her way to Chicago.

At five of four, Central Time, she let herself into her flat. It smelled musty, so she opened all the windows, even though the air was unseasonably cool.

At four-ten, she called Bobby.

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"Yeah, she left. They talked every hour and she left at about twelve-thirty." . . . "Want me to check with our guy at Metro-Air?" . . . "Ok. Yeah." . . . "Tonight? _Already_?" . . . " Jesus." . . . "Ok." . . . "Yeah, I'll clear out their place tomorrow when he's gone. Do you think he'll head to Evanston?" . . . "Ok. Sure. Bye."

Robinson hung up and sat for a minute. He was going to miss watching the couple across the alley. He felt like this at the end of every ongoing surveillance. He knew it wasn't professional, but he tended to get attached to the people he watched; especially nice people like the professor and her detective husband. That cop's going to go ape-shit, Robinson thought, when he finds out she's gone back to Evanston. Oh well. Robinson shut off the monitors and started packing up.

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"Hi, Honey, I'm almost home. Did you rest well?" Bobby couldn't wait to get home; he had fretted about her the whole time she was napping. It had been good, though, to go into work as his mind was off of her for a time. He was eager to see how she was this evening.

Gleason didn't respond right away and Bobby's fist tightened on the wheel, "Gleason, are you there?"

"Bobby," oh he is going to be so angry. Gleason told herself that she had done the right thing coming back to Evanston, as she had to be back for her classes starting on Wednesday. She had to. But, she felt terrible about disobeying Bobby; he loved her and only wanted to keep her safe. But safe from what? He had been very possessive since she returned. Returned from where? Her mind wasn't what it had been yet. It would be clear eventually, they had promised. Who had promised?

"Gleason, answer me, are you alright?" He accelerated and blew through a yellow light. "Gleason!"

"Yes, I'm, I'm here, Bobby. I mean, I mean – Bobby, can I call you back?"

"Glea-, I'm coming up the block. What's wrong?"

She was terrified of telling him what she had done, so she hung up.

"Gleason?!" Bobby flipped shut his phone and ran to his building. He fumbled with his key in the lock and then took the stairs two at a time, pounded down the hall and unlocked the door. She wasn't in the kitchen, living room, or bathroom; he stepped into the bedroom. The first thing he noticed was that her throw was gone from the foot of the bed.

The phone rang in her hand. It's him, it's him, answer it, "Hello?"

"Where the fuck are you?" his voice was deep and dark, he was furious and terrified. She heard him panting as though he had run.

"Bobby –,"

"Did you leave or did they take you?" He stood with his finger and thumb over his eyes.

She didn't answer and he exploded. "Answer me, goddamn it!" he shouted, "Did you leave or did they take you?"

"Bobby, I, I had to come back. I had to, they said I had to. I need to teach on Wednesday. Don't be mad."

Bobby placed his hand on the back of the kitchen chair and leaned on it ; he was shaking with anger and fear. He needed to calm down and made himself breathe deeply.

"Bobby?"

He took several deep breaths and then said steadily, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, Love, I am fine. I feel very good. Can you come up this weekend or do you want me to come home?" She talked as if nothing was wrong, as if nothing had happened.

Bobby still shook with anger, his fear was dissipating. "Why did you lie to me?" His voice was deep with fury.

"I, I didn't mean to. I'm sorry, Bobby, but I had to come back. Don't you understand? I had to come back to prepare for my classes."

"You swore to me that you would stay here. Goddamn it, Gleason! YOU LIED TO ME!"

Gleason jumped back from the phone and put a hand to her face. She couldn't understand why he was so angry. Yes, she left when she said she would stay, but she had to come back, she _had_ to. Why couldn't he see that?

She felt a shift in her mind, an actual shift – goddamn him anyway. I should be able to do whatever I want. Who is he to tell _me_ what to do? "You listen to me, Bobby; I don't have to answer to you. I needed to come back to do my job and too bad if that doesn't fit well with your plans. Fuck you." And she hung up.

Bobby looked at the phone and immediately hit "re-dial," but he knew she wasn't going to pick up and he was right. He looked at the clock, nearly six; he could get there tonight, but he knew he wouldn't.

He sank into his chair and leaned against the back; god he was tired, just exhausted. He forced every muscle to relax; he'd held himself tight since she called to say she was back. All the tension with her, not knowing how she'd be, worrying that 'they' would come for her, sick over the fact that she might be, probably is, pregnant. And, he still had to deal with the reality that she had been raped.

Bobby began to breathe heavily and then began to sob. He sat forward, face in his hands and sobbed out loud. Everything was so wrong. Everything. He cried a long time. Jesus, he was tired. Bobby sat up and hit "re-dial" one more time and put the phone to his ear. Surprisingly, she answered.

"Hello?"

He hitched a sob and said, "Honey," and then cried again.

Gleason listened and then said, "Bobby? What's wrong?" She sounded like she had no idea they'd just screamed at each other. "Love, what is it? Are you all right?" He couldn't stop crying, "Bobby! Tell me what's wrong."

"Glea-," he sobbed, he didn't know what to tell her, he didn't know what was wrong because everything was wrong, "Glea-, I, I'm so tired. So tired," and he cried anew.

"Why are you so tired, Love?" She was clueless.

"I'm, I'm tired of worrying about you. I don't want anything to happen to you. I don't know what's wrong with you. I, I think you're pregnant. Something's happened to you. I want to take care of you." He sobbed aloud.

Gleason listened and didn't know what to do, what to say. They sat and listened to each other breathe.

Eventually, they talked – for more than an hour and Bobby had to plug in his phone in the bedroom. Gleason said she needed to go out and get groceries as she had nothing in the apartment.

"Oh, don't go out," he groaned, "Don't go. Please."

"Bobby, I have no food here. I'm hungry. I need to go to the grocery and get a few things. I'll be fine."

He wiped his hand over his face. "I want to talk with you while you are shopping. Ok?"

He is so goddamn possessive! Gleason felt herself getting hot, she was ready to scream at him, but blink – it was gone. She felt mildly dizzy.

"Can we talk while you shop? Huh?" Bobby felt like a whiney little boy and hated himself for it.

"Uh, I, I need to go to the grocery. I'll call you when I get back. Goodb-."

He heard the change in her voice, "Glea-? Honey, talk to me. Sweetheart? Are you ok?" What just happened? "Gleason, is someone there?" Silence. "Gleason! GLEASON?" He was on his feet, hand over his head and down his neck.

"My phone is going to run out. I need to plug it in." She sounded flat, expressionless.

"Is someone there?"

"What? No, nobody is here. I need to go, Bobby. I'll, I'll call you when I get back. I won't be gone long. I'll call you back. I have to go." And she clicked off.

Bobby hung up and sat on the edge of the bed, he was losing his mind. Then he stood, went to the bathroom and then the kitchen. He looked at the bags of bread and rolls and ran his hands over his face. Bobby made a sandwich and had a beer and then went back to the bedroom to wait for her to call.

She called back seventy-one minutes after she had hung up and Bobby shuddered a sigh of relief. The couple talked for twenty minutes and Gleason said she needed to eat something. She called half an hour later and they talked for another hour. The spoke one more time before she said they should go to bed. She would call him when she woke up, but she was going to sleep in, so he shouldn't worry.

He didn't want to hang up. He did not want to hang up. "Baby," he started to breathe heavily again, his hand went to his eyes, "Glea-, Jesus, I am so worried about you. What time are you getting up? What time will you call?"

"Bobby, I don't know. I want to sleep in. I'll call you when I get up, ok?" she was getting exasperated.

He knew he was being paranoid. "When? Ten, nine? When? When will you call me? How will I know you are all right?"

"I'll call you at eleven, noon your time. Ok? I'll call you before noon." They listened to each other breathe. "I love you, Bobby, forever. Don't ever forget that. I'll love you forever." And she clicked off.

He sat with his head in his hands. His gut burned, his head pounded. He locked up the apartment and went to bed, not expecting to sleep. But he did, immediately and through the night.

She shut the windows, turned on the heater and went to bed; she was so tired. She slept and she dreamed.

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"Mommy! Come on, Mommy! Hurry!" The child ran to his mother with his arms open.

"I'm coming, Tian, I'm coming." Gleason trudged up the road.

"Hurry, Lily is crying." He reached her and she bent and hugged him. "Come on, Gramma and Nanna are here, too. Hurry."

"Who is Lily? And Nanna?"

"Come on, Mommy." Christian pulled his mother by the hand and they crested the slope. Gleason stopped and heard a baby crying. She looked at the foot of the hill and saw two women, one holding a crying baby with frizzy red hair.

Gleason and her son walked down the path toward the two women. The baby turned in the woman's arms and stopped crying, hitching tiny sobs, reaching for her. Gleason stared at the child and saw it was a little girl, with the biggest brown eyes. "Lily?" She looked at the two women, "Mrs. Goren?"

"My girl," the other woman said so softly, "My girl."

Nora, that's what Nora used to call me. On the island, my mother would call me, My Girl.

"Christian, where are we?"


	24. Chapter 24

Intentional End

Chapter 24

Midmorning Tuesday

October 16

"Deakins. . . . Jack! This is a surprise. How are you? . . . Yeah, he's one of mine. . . . Oh dear God, no. . . . What happened? . . . Jesus. . . . Yeah, thanks Jack. I'll take care of it. . . . Yeah, I'll, I'll call you later. . . . Yeah, yeah. Bye." Jimmy Deakins hung up and covered his face with his hands. He couldn't believe it and fought tears. Get yourself together, he told himself; you need to be strong. He sat for another minute and tried to think of what to say. Finally, he stood.

Eames and Goren were going over the crime scene photos and preparing a timeline for the prosecution. Bobby kept looking at his watch and seemed more preoccupied than usual. Deakins walked from his office to the task room and said, "Bobby, come with me."

The tall detective stood, followed his boss and was surprised when Deakins headed for an empty interrogation room. Deakins opened the door and Bobby followed. "Shut the door and have a seat." Bobby did not like the way his boss looked. Deakins pulled out a chair and sat, his hands going to his face again.

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Robinson entered Bobby's apartment and softly shut the door behind him. He went straight to the bedroom and used a sweeper the size of a deck of cards to find the bug. He knew it was in the picture frame over the dresser, but didn't want to waste time searching for it. In less than a minute he picked it from the corner of the canvas. Next, he went into the kitchen and swept the top and bottom hinges on cupboard to the right of the sink; the sweeper beeped and Robinson popped out the wired hinge and replaced it with the original.

Then, he walked into the living room and stood before the bookcases, admiring the number of books. He took a minute to scan the titles and was impressed – this guy is no dummy; but they already knew that. Robinson swept along the top and down the right edges of the bookcase and, again, the sweeper beeped. He lifted the bug and slipped it into his pocket with the wired hinge and bedroom bug. Robinson took one more look at the collection of books. He couldn't resist pulling out a volume with a gloved finger to better read the title, "Erotische Dichtung."

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"Captain?"

Deakins had to wait until he was sure his voice was steady. "Bobby, Jack Emerson, a friend of mine from the Evanston PD just called."

Bobby couldn't draw a breath.

"The building super found Gleason's body in her apartment early this morning." He looked at the man he considered a younger brother.

Bobby could not process what his friend and boss had just told him. He still couldn't draw a breath.

"Do you understand what I just said?" He watched realisation slowly dawn on Bobby's face.

"Uh," he cleared his throat, "uh, wh –, what?"

"Bobby, Gleason's dead," Deakins said softly; he reached across the table to put his hand on Bobby's forearm.

Bobby inhaled a huge, shuddering breath. God. Oh, God. "What, what happened?" he whispered.

"A carbon monoxide alarm went off and the super went to each of the apartments to notify people to get out. When she got to Gleason's apartment, she didn't answer the door, so the super let herself in and found Gleason in bed. It was carbon monoxide, Bobby." He watched the other man closely. "I am so sorry."

Bobby stood up and put his hands in his pockets. He turned, but did not pace; he stood absolutely still. Gleason is dead? No, no, no, there's been a mistake. He could not allow the possibility of her not being ok take shape in his head. He pulled his phone from his pocket and hit speed dial one. Gleason's phone rang five times and quit; she still did not want voice mail. He looked at the clock and said, "She's, uh, she's sleeping. Last night, she said she wanted to sleep in. She's sleeping. She said she'd call me when she woke up. She's fine. She's sleeping." He slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"Bobby, Gleason is not sleeping."

Bobby stood and looked at nothing. Then, his hands went to his face. He began to shiver and it escalated into a shake. "No. No. No. No no-no-no!" he said through his hands. Deakins was on his feet and stood in front of Bobby, both hands on the other man's upper arms. Bobby quaked. A soft mewling issued from under his hands and Deakins embraced his friend and Bobby slumped against his Captain.

"Here, sit down," Deakins guided Bobby to a chair and Bobby sat. "I'll be right back." Deakins went into the watch room, took a bottle of water and returned to the interrogation room. Bobby sat with elbows on the table, face in his hands. Deakins twisted open the bottle, set it in front of Bobby and sat beside him, a hand between Bobby's shoulders.

Bobby took the handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face and nose. He still shook. "Here take a drink," Deakins held up the water. Bobby took it from him, swallowed a mouthful, and gagged; he nearly threw it up. "Easy, easy," Deakins said. Bobby recovered and leaned back in the chair. He still shook.

"I'll go to Chicago with you. We can leave this afternoon." Bobby nodded. He still shook. "Stay here for a while. I'm going to tell Alex." Bobby nodded and still shook.

Deakins looked at his best detective for a minute and then stood. He glanced back at Bobby from the door and then went to tell the man's partner.

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One more look around the apartment and Robinson sighed; he wished he wouldn't get attached to the people he watched. He turned and opened the door, stepped through and nearly ran into Mrs. Ziegler.

"Oh, pardon me!" she exclaimed.

"Sorry," Robinson replied averting his face. He turned to lock the door and Mrs. Ziegler watched him.

"Are you Bobby's brother?"

He ignored the old woman.

"I'm sorry about your mother's passing. I never met her, you know, but if she raised you and Bobby, I am sure she was a wonderful woman."

Robinson began to sweat. He finished locking the door and headed for the steps.

"I'll let Bobby know you stopped by. Have a nice day," she hollered after him and headed for her

door.

Robinson stopped dead at the top of the steps. Shit! He knew what he had to do and hated this part of the job. He continued down a few steps, then stopped, waited a few seconds and then crept back up. Sure enough, the old woman was unlocking her apartment door. Robinson rushed silently down the hall and pushed the old woman into her apartment.

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"Alex."

Eames followed the boss to his office and shut the door behind her. "Gleason died this morning," Deakins said without preamble.

Eames dropped into a chair and covered her mouth. "Oh, God, Bobby! What happened? Her heart?"

"Carbon monoxide; the super found her in bed."

Eames' eyes filled, "Oh God. Oh Bobby." Eames thought for a minute, and then asked, turning in her chair to look through the glass walls, "Where is he? How is he?"

"He's in IR three. I'm going to Chicago with him. We'll leave this afternoon."

"I need to see him." Eames stood and Deakins followed her.

Bobby hadn't moved since Deakins left and he didn't look at them when they entered. Eames sat across from him and reached for his hand. He neither looked at her nor met her hand. "Bobby?" she whispered. She cried softly, silently.

Bobby seemed to focus and looked from his partner to his boss. "I, uh, I, I need to go to her. I, need to be with her. I, need to . . . I ne –," He gasped two huge breaths and continued, "I need to go to Evanston. She needs me. I have to go." He stood and Deakins stood as well.

"Bobby, stay here with Alex for right now. I'm going to make a few calls, get some things organized, and then we'll go to the airport. Stay here with Alex." Then, to Eames he said, "Stay with him." She nodded.

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Robinson sat in his vehicle for a minute calming himself. He was a surveillance expert, not a killer. Wycoff is going to have my head for this; but I had no choice, the old woman was a liability, a witness, he said to himself. Yeah, he continued thinking, but the consequences and the fallout are going to echo throughout the agency. Robinson hated himself. He opened his cell and rang Wycoff.

"Is it done? The place clean?" Wycoff asked without greeting.

"Uh, yeah, but there's been a complication."

Wycoff's silence told Robinson all he needed to know. After a moment of seething, Wycoff asked, "What did you do?"

Oh, man, Robinson hated telling his boss this, "I had to remove a witness."

"Do not tell me you left a body," he said with ominous darkness.

"I had no choice, the old woman engaged me. She thought I was the brother and said he'd let the detective know I was there."

Wycoff's hand tightened into a fist. Goddamn! Why can't things go smoothly? Just once, he thought. "Where are you?"

"Outside the apartment," Robinson replied.

"You are sitting outside his building?" Wycoff asked incredulously. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Robinson felt like a six-year-old in the middle of a scolding and had nothing to offer as a reply.

"Robinson, you ass-hole, you get your ass away from that building and on a plane back here. Do you understand me?"

"Yes. What do you want me to do with the bugs?"

"What you always do!" the boss screamed and hung up.

The agent jerked the phone away from his ear and clicked off.

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Deakins walked to the elevator and rode to the fifteenth floor. "I need to speak to the Chief," he told the assistant.

"He's with –," she began.

"I want to see him now! This is an emergency," Deakins said with vehemence.

"Certainly," she said and went to knock on the Chief of Detectives' door.

Deakins explained what had happened and the Chief was shocked. "Of course, go with him. We'll get things covered here, Jimmy. How is he?"

"He's in shock. I don't know what this is going to do to him."

Both men stood quietly and then the Chief said, "Take as much time as you need. Stay with him. He doesn't have any other family, does he?"

"He just lost his mom a few weeks ago and he has a brother who's out of the picture. That's it."

"Take care of him, Jimmy. Keep me posted."

Deakins nodded and said, "Thanks."

He returned to the eleventh floor, went into his office and called Angie.

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"Bobby, I'm sorry," Eames said softly. She needed a tissue, had none, so she used her fingers and the back of her hand instead. "Do you want me to go to Chicago with you and the Captain?"

His eyes shifted to her and he shook his head. They sat quietly and then he said softly, "Alex, I think there's been a mistake. She's ok. There's been a mistake."

Alex's face crumpled and she said softly, "Oh, Bobby, no. No, Gleason is, Gleason is gone. Bobby, she's gone." Now Eames cried aloud having said it aloud. She reached for his hands and took them in her own. He looked at her and nodded. Then he slid his handkerchief across to her. She took it, wiped her face and nose, and slid it back. It lay on the table between them.

"Alex, I need to go to her. She needs me. I have to go," he took his handkerchief and stood, she rose with him.

"Bobby, stay here with me. Deakins will be right back and then he'll go with you to see her. Ok? Stay here with me."

Bobby moved to the door and Alex took his arm, "Bobby. . ."

He turned and pulled his arm from her hand, "She needs me," he said flatly and pulled open the door. Eames followed him out. Deakins met them in the hallway; he had his coat on and keys out.

" Alex, look after things here. Don't say anything to anyone; the Chief is putting out a memo. I'll call you. Call me with anything." He turned to Bobby who stood numbly. "Let Alex lock up your weapon, let's get your coat and we'll go."

Bobby unclipped his weapon from his belt and handed it to his partner. He glanced at her in the way he does and followed Deakins to the bullpen.

No one even noticed the two men move toward the elevators.

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	25. Chapter 25

Intentional End

Chapter 25

Noon Tuesday

October 16

Deakins and Bobby walked to ticketing and the Captain went to the counter to purchase two roundtrip tickets to O'Hare with an undetermined return date. The agent asked to see a picture ID and Deakins showed his NYPD photo identification. "Bobby, she needs to see your ID." Bobby, standing off to Deakins' right, handed it over.

The ticket agent looked at the identification and glanced up at Bobby; it was obvious this man had been crying. She looked at Deakins and asked softly, "Is this a compassion trip?"

Deakins looked at Bobby, then back at her and replied, "His wife was found dead this morning."

The woman showed genuine hurt for the tall man. "I'm so sorry. Let me see what I can do." She typed away and was able to get them on the next flight, leaving in ninety minutes, at a most reasonable cost. Deakins paid with his credit card and thanked the woman. "Here, let me give you these." She pulled two cards from a drawer and handed them to Deakins. "These are passes to the Club Room. You and your friend will have more privacy in there than sitting out in the gate area.

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Ted Olewine walked through the building's laundry room heading for the maintenance room behind. He noticed the blue basket setting on the folding table and glanced at the row of front loading washers, saw the load of wet clothes in the bottom of the drum and threw them into the dryer, using his key to by-pass the need for coins. Then, he entered the maintenance room to check one of the water heaters.

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Inside the Club Room, Deakins led Bobby to an area with few people around. He got them each a bottle of water and sat across from Bobby. Suddenly, Bobby said softly,

"They killed her," looking at Deakins and the captain went cold.

"Bobby –," Deakins said, looking away; he had no other words.

"Her apartment is a crime scene. Call your friend and have him seal it. Tell him to get a CSU team in there and confiscate the CO monitor." Bobby said all of this without taking his eyes off his boss.

Deakins finally looked at Bobby and softly, "Bobby, it was an accident; no one killed her, it was a terrible accident."

A fierce, low-grade anger ignited in Bobby's mind and gut. He knew they killed her and he knew that Deakins knew they killed her. And, still, Deakins refused to help. Jesus.

Deakins did not like the look on Bobby's face. Dear God, he wanted to help Bobby. He had never been in such a situation, torn between loyalty and friendship and abject fear. Deakins sat back and closed his eyes; he couldn't look at the other man.

Bobby never thought he could ever hate his friend, but right now, he could have killed Deakins. Instead, Bobby compartmentalised his anger and said, "We talked last night, a lot. She, she told me she loves me. She said she'll love me forever."

Deakins had no idea of what to say. He just listened and a part of him died.

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Ted walked back through the laundry room, noticed that the dryer had stopped and removed the clothes, placing them in the blue basket on the folding table. He turned the basket around and checked the other end – '4D' was written in black marker. I'll just run these up to Mrs. Ziegler, he thought.

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Deakins called his friend, Jack Emerson and gave him their flight information. Jack said he would meet them and take them to the Evanston Medical Examiner's office as Bobby needed to identify the body. Deakins did not tell his friend Bobby's suspicions about I Gleason's death being a murder. Gleason's apartment had not been sealed as the ME determined that her death was accidental. Jack asked Deakins to talk with Bobby about the disposal of her remains; the ME would need the name of a funeral home to deliver her body.

Deakins clicked off and watched Bobby, he could not imagine what his detective was thinking, feeling. This man is so sensitive and vulnerable on a good day, he thought, this is going to tip him right over. At the same time Deakins hated himself; he wanted to help his friend in the worst way, but knew that was not going to happen and he hated himself even more.

"I'm going to the men's room." Bobby said suddenly. He stood and slipped off his coat. He looked around, spotted it and headed in that direction.

Bobby entered a stall and just stood there, knowing he was going to be sick. He waited for it and then threw up. It wasn't much, and he did not feel any better afterward. Bobby flushed, peed, flushed again and went to wash his hands and swish his mouth. He stood and looked at himself in the mirror. He was a wreck.

Gleason is not dead; he sobbed aloud on the word 'dead.' She is not, she is not; there's been a mistake. She is fine. He pulled his cell and looked at the time – she'll be awake by now, he said to himself. He dialed her cell and waited for her to answer. It rang five times and quit. He dialed again. And again. And again. He stood at the sink and cried with the phone in his hand.

Deakins came looking for him. "She won't answer her phone," he told his boss. "She won't answer."

"Oh, Bobby," Deakins said softly, compassionately. He wet some paper towels and handed them to Bobby, taking his phone from him. Bobby wiped his face and tossed the paper into the bin. He took back his phone and the two headed back to their seats.

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Ted stood in the lobby talking to a tenant for several minutes and then made his way up the steps carrying Mrs. Ziegler's basket of clothes. He was way-laid on the first floor by another tenant for another few minutes and continued up the steps. He made it to the fourth floor and started down the hall to apartment 4-D.

"Mrs. Ziegler," Ted said, rapping on the door. He waited and then repeated, "Mrs. Ziegler? It's Ted, I've got your laundry here. Thought I'd save you a trip." Ted listened, heard nothing and thought, she must be in the bathroom. "Mrs. Ziegler?"

Still hearing nothing, Ted tried the knob. Locked. He set down the basket and took his master key, unlocked the door and stopped dead. Old Mrs. Ziegler lay on the floor, her head twisted in an impossible angle.

He and Bobby had spent enough time talking crime that Ted knew to just back out, touching nothing. He pulled shut the door, crossed the hall to his own apartment and called 9-1-1.

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They sat quietly until Deakins said they should head to the gate. Bobby stood, took his coat and followed Deakins. After a short delay on the tarmac, they headed to O'Hare. Two hours later, Bobby sat behind Jack Emerson and the Captain in an unmarked police car, heading to the Medical Examiner's office in Evanston.

The two men stood on either side of Bobby as the ME rolled the steel table from the refrigerated unit set into the wall. Bobby's breath came fast and shallow as he stared at the sheet covering the body before him. Deakins put his hand on Bobby's shoulder. The ME stood on the opposite side and looked at Jack Emerson who nodded slightly. Carefully, he lifted the sheet.

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Mrs. Ziegler's apartment had been sealed as a crime scene, her body taken to the morgue. Not knowing to which department this case would be assigned, Ted had called Bobby's work phone to let him know about his neigbour's murder. Eames answered and immediately drove to Bobby's apartment building. She didn't say anything about Gleason's death over the phone.

Eames arrived and explained to the responding detectives that her partner lived next door; and, she assured them that she was not encroaching, the case was theirs. They understood and gave her access. After Eames examined the body and site, she wanted to interview Ted.

"Where's Bobby?" Ted asked Eames in the hallway.

Eames had to look down and steady herself, "Can we talk privately?"

Ted led the tiny detective into his apartment, Becky moved to her husband's side and both looked at the woman expectantly.

"Uh, Bobby is," her voice caught and she breathed deeply. "Bobby is on his way to Evanston. Gleason was found dead this morning."

The couple gasped, Becky's hands going to her face. "What! What happened?" Ted asked with shock.

Eames nodded and continued, "Carbon monoxide, apparently her alarm was faulty or had dead batteries."

No one said anything for a moment and then Becky asked, "So it was an accident?"

The way Becky asked implied more than a simple question. "It seems so," Eames answered cautiously, looking at the other woman. "Why do you ask?"

Becky looked up at Ted and then said, "Are you sure it wasn't suicide?"

Eames was shocked. "Suicide? Why would you say that?" Ted and Becky both shuffled uncomfortably. "What?"

"Detective, you should sit down."

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Bobby stumbled and the two men caught him; he issued a soft anguished cry. "Come on, Bobby, let's go."

"No, no. I need to stay with her. I need to stay. Honey? Oh Christ. Gleason. . . ?" He couldn't catch his breath.

"Bobby, come on. Let these people take care of her. Come on."

Bobby reached for Gleason's body, Jimmy gently pulled him back, and the ME quickly covered her again. "Come on, Bobby. We have to go."

Bobby allowed his boss to lead him to a bench in the hallway. He sat, hitching sobs. Jack and Deakins stood away, leaving the man in his private grief. "Where does her body go? Did he give you the name of a funeral home?" Jack asked softly.

Deakins could not talk with Bobby about this right now. "The medical examiner's office in Manhattan will look after her body until Bobby knows what to do. Send her to the attention of Dr. Elizabeth Rogers. I'll let Dr. Rogers know the body is coming."

Jack nodded and moved to speak with the ME. Deakins looked at Bobby sitting with his face in his hands, elbows on his knees.

"Jimmy, the ME wants to speak with you."

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"Why do you think it was suicide?" Eames asked.

Ted began, "Bobby and Gleason, they. . ." Oh, this was hard; Ted felt as though he was betraying his good friend. "It's not been good between them for a while." He looked up at the detective and said, "You know him better than anyone, were they separated? Was, was Gleason hospitalised?"

Separated? Hospitalised? "No, neither. Gleason was," Eames didn't know how much to tell. "She was away for several weeks, working, conducting research." She looked at the couple and asked, "Why would you think she was hospitalised?"

Becky shifted in the chair and answered, "We heard Gleason screaming several times, she had to be taken to hospital in an ambulance on Saturday."

"I've heard Bobby screaming at her. The neighbour, Mrs. Ziegler, phoned one night saying she heard yelling and screaming."

Eames' chest tightened. Bobby had called on Saturday saying Gleason was not well and he needed to stay with her and would not be in. He had not said Gleason was in hospital. Eames also knew Bobby's temper, she had witnessed Bobby scream at Gleason one morning when she had stopped by to pick him up.

"I cannot believe Gleason would kill herself," Eames lied.

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Jack and Deakins met with the medical examiner, Dr. Calvin Pritchard, "I don't know if her husband knew, she may not have known, but she was nearly thirteen weeks pregnant."

Deakins felt sick. "Jesus Christ," he said and his hands went to his face. Jack glanced back through the window at the man hunched over on the bench. He didn't know this man, but he imagined what he was going through. Jack wanted to call his wife and tell her he loved her.

"I want to give you a copy of the autopsy report. A copy will travel with her body; it will ship to your ME this afternoon." Dr. Pritchard handed Deakins the brown envelope and continued, "I'm sorry for your friend's loss," and handed Deakins a much smaller brown envelope. "Her necklace and wedding band are in here." The three men looked over at Bobby sitting in the hall. "He's going to need a lot of care through this."

Deakins nodded and slipped the tiny envelope into his breast pocket; then, he expressed his thanks and shook the doctor's hand. Dr. Pritchard turned as did the other two. Deakins and Jack stepped back into the hallway.

"Do you want to take him to the apartment tonight?"

Deakins looked back at Bobby and said, "Christ, I don't know. Help me here, Jack. I can't think straight."

Jack Emerson glanced at the tall man on the bench. "He's pretty messed up, Jimmy. Why don't you two get a hotel room for tonight, guest of the Evanston PD? Let him sleep and then start fresh tomorrow. The Hilton is a nice place."

Both men turned and looked at Bobby, staring at nothing.

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The conversation turned to the murder and Eames interviewed Ted and Becky. She explained that they would be re-interviewed by the detectives of the Midtown North Precinct. Having gotten the information she needed, Eames thanked the Olewines, found the lead detective and expressed her thanks, then left. Her head was spinning.


	26. Chapter 26

Intentional End

Chapter 26

Evening Tuesday

October 16

Jack drove them to the Hilton Garden Inn. Loomis, the doorman, recognized Bobby from his visits and the apartment hunting. "Detective! Welcome back! Where is your lovely wife?" Bobby ignored the man and Deakins just shook his head at the man. Loomis stared after the three men, confused. Jack went to the desk and requested two adjoining, nonsmoking rooms for two nights, using the department credit card.

Antonio, the kind desk clerk who had befriended Gleason on her first visit two years prior, came around the corner from the elevators. "Detective Goren, how good to see you again!" He crossed the lobby to where Bobby stood and Bobby turned toward him. Antonio stopped dead when he saw Bobby's face. Loomis swept over and pulled Antonio aside.

Jack and Deakins returned to Bobby's side and the two spoke briefly. Deakins and Jack agreed to take Bobby to the apartment at ten the next morning. Jack would have boxes handy for them to prepare her things to be shipped home. "Jack, thanks for everything. I couldn't have done this without you."

Jack glanced at Bobby who had stepped away from their conversation. "Look after him, Jimmy. If you need anything, call me. Are you going to need clothes or anything?"

"No, we'll be fine. We're probably going to head home tomorrow afternoon. He's not going to want to stick around."

Jack stepped to Bobby and put his hand on the tall man's arm. "Detective, I'm sorry for your loss. I'll see you in the morning, get some rest." Bobby looked numbly at the kind man, nodded and put out his hand to shake. Jack took his hand and then left.

"Bobby, let's go upstairs. Come on." He followed his boss to the elevators.

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Deakins phone rang as they headed down the hall. He checked the number, Eames's cell.

"Yeah," he said flatly.

"Captain, how, how is he?"

"Let me call you back," and he flipped shut his phone.

Deakins opened Bobby's door, stepped aside, followed Bobby in and handed him the key card. "I'm right next door. I'm going to open the doors between the rooms."

Bobby just stood beside the bed, saying nothing. Deakins opened the connecting door in Bobby's room and left, letting himself into the room next door where he opened the connecting door in his room. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

Bobby wiped his face and slipped off his coat, tossing it over the chair by the desk. He shook his head and undid his tie, throwing it on top of his coat. He kicked off his shoes and opened the top three buttons on his shirt. Then, Bobby dropped onto the bed, feet flat, knees bent and put an arm over his eyes.

Deakins returned to his room and did the same with his coat, tie, shoes and shirt. Then he sat on the bed and flipped open his cell.

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Antonio and Loomis stood silently together watching the three men. "I wonder what's going on," Loomis said to his friend. Antonio, never one to let anything go undone, strode to the desk and asked Monique what she knew about the three men.

"All I know is the Evanston Police are paying for their two rooms and incidentals. They booked for two nights, with a chance to check out tomorrow."

"The police are paying for their rooms? I wonder why. Do you think they are working on a case with the New York police?"

Antonio thought for a moment and then said, "Did you see Dr. W's husband's face? The way he was standing off by himself, the way the other two were whispering around him? He didn't look too good to me."

Suddenly, Clark rushed from the back room and said, "Hey, you guys remember Dr. Wintermantle, that nice lady from the university? She died this morning!"

The two men and woman turned. "What! She died! What happened?" Antonio asked.

"The news said her apartment had a carbon monoxide leak."

Loomis and Antonio were struck dumb. Dr. Wintermantle is dead? How can that be?

"That's why her husband is here and looked so bad. And the police. Oh my. Oh my," Loomis said softly.

Antonio walked away and sat in one of the chairs in the lobby area between the desk and windows. Loomis had to dash out to help a guest with her bags and then went to sit with him.

"Can you believe it? She is such a nice lady," Loomis murmured.

Antonio stood and walked to the desk, "Monique, what rooms are they in?"

"Five-twenty-two and -four."

"Thanks." Antonio walked into the kitchen and emerged a few minutes later with a cart filled with plates holding sandwiches, French fries, salad, cake and pie. The bottom shelf held a pitcher of iced tea, a pot of coffee, two beers and a full bottle of Scotch. Cutlery, glasses, cups and condiments filled the last of the space. "Monique, which room is the other guy in?" She told him and he headed for the elevator.

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"Alex, Deakins."

"How is he?"

"He's destroyed. Anything going on there?"

"Yeah, Bobby's next door neighbour was murdered sometime today."

Deakins went cold. He knew exactly who did it, but why?

"How?"

"Broken neck. It looks like the perp caught her on the way into her apartment, overpowered her and snapped her neck. An elderly woman, Mrs. Irene Ziegler."

Deakins couldn't say anything right away. This is getting out of hand, he thought. How many people have to die and suffer to cauterise their actions? "Who's working it? That's Midtown North."

"They have it. Ted Olewine, Bobby's super, found the body and called it in. Then he called the office to tell Bobby about it; I picked up the phone and responded. I told them about Gleason."

The two were silent a moment.

"Ok. Listen, we're probably going to be back tomorrow some time. He's going to need a lot of time off, Alex."

"Is he going to survive this?"

Deakins debated whether to tell Bobby's partner about the pregnancy and decided to wait. "He'll survive, but this will change him. Listen, I'll call you tomorrow. Take care of things there."

"Ok. Tell him I'm thinking of him."

They both clicked off.

Deakins moved and stood in the doorway connecting the two rooms, looking at his best detective, thinking Bobby was asleep. He wasn't.

"I, I want to see the autopsy report."

"Bobby . . . ," Deakins said.

"I-want-to-see-the-fucking-report," Bobby said darkly and sat up. "Give me the file."

"I will, but I have to tell you something first."

Bobby sat up on the edge of the bed, stared at Deakins and felt a chill, "What?"

"Bobby," Deakins couldn't believe it could get any worse, "Oh God, Bobby . . . Gleason, she, she was thirteen weeks pregnant."

Bobby couldn't draw a deep breath and stared dumbly at his boss. His mind ran. She was pregnant. I knew she was pregnant. A baby, our baby. Oh God, oh God. Honey. My wife and my child. Bobby's face went into his hands and hitched sobs anew, wailing his grief. Oh God.

Deakins couldn't help by cry softly as well. This man cannot take another blow, he thought. Deakins looked at Bobby sitting with his face in his hands, elbows on his knees and had no idea what to do or what to say.

"How far?" Bobby hitched out, looking up at his boss, "How many weeks?" He wanted to know if she was pregnant before she was abducted.

"Thirteen weeks," Deakins replied softly.

Thirteen weeks, thirteen weeks . . . Bobby did the math and figured she was pregnant before their honeymoon. My baby, it was my baby. My baby. And he cried with relief and renewed grief.

A knock on his door drew Deakins' attention. He wiped his face with this handkerchief and answered. Antonio introduced himself, expressed his condolences and explained that he wanted to offer this dinner to them, on the house. Deakins was stunned. "Thank you. This is . . . very nice of you. Are you sure it's on the house? I'd be more than glad to pay for this."

"No, no. Please accept this." Antonio had to pause, he wanted to explain how special Dr. Wintermantle was to him and everyone at the hotel, but he didn't trust himself not to cry.

He nodded to Deakins and left. Deakins looked at the feast and selected the Scotch and two glasses. He walked through the open doors connecting the two rooms. Bobby lay on his back again, stretched out on one bed; hands limp on his chest, staring at the ceiling.

"Bobby, let's have a drink." Deakins opened the bottle and poured two stiff ones. He walked to Bobby and held it out to him. "Come on, sit up. Drink this."

Bobby turned his head and looked at his boss. He sat up and took the glass. Deakins sat on the other bed, facing Bobby. They each took a sip. "You're going to have to eat some dinner. We have lots of food in the other room."

"I'm not hungry."

"I know that, but you have to eat something."

Bobby ignored him and tossed back the rest of his drink. He stood, went to the bottle on the dresser, poured himself another ample drink, and drained it. He reached for the bottle again and Deakins stood and took it from him. "No more, you have to eat something. Come on."

"Give me the fucking bottle."

Deakins ignored him and walked into his room. He put the bottle on the shelf in the closet and set his glass on the dresser. Then, he pushed the cart into Bobby's room. "Here, eat this," handing Bobby a plate with a huge sandwich on it. Bobby shook his head, moved back to the bed, and laid down, resuming his position with hands limp on his chest.

Deakins looked at his friend and took a bite out of the sandwich. He took a plate of French fries, dumped ketchup to the side and set the plate on the table between the two beds. The smell was fabulous.

"Bobby, we're going to go to the apartment at ten tomorrow morning. You'll need to pack up Gleason's things. I'll help you." Bobby said nothing. "We'll head home tomorrow afternoon, if you want. Or, we can stay and head home the day after." Deakins looked at him, Bobby may as well been deaf and mute.

Deakins took a few fries and continued to eat the sandwich.

Suddenly, softly Bobby said, "What about her, her . . . her body?" he whispered the last bit.

"Dr. Rogers will take receipt and keep it until you know what you want to do."

Bobby thought on this and then said, "What should I do?"

Deakins set aside the sandwich and wiped his mouth. "What do you want to do? Does Gleason have any family?"

Bobby sat quietly and then answered so softly, "Just me."

Deakins hesitated with this next bit, "What do you want to do, Bobby? Do you have a funeral home you use?"

Bobby's hands went to his face, elbows on his knees. After a few minutes, his hands lowered and he said softly, "Uh, McFarland's, on East 29th. They, they handled my mother's and father's funerals." His voice quivered.

Neither man said anything for several minutes. Suddenly, Bobby stood and rushed to the bathroom, slammed the door and Deakins heard him vomit. He emerged a few minutes later and Deakins said, "Eat something. You are going to need to be strong tomorrow."

"Where did you put that Scotch?" Bobby responded.

"You need to eat first." Deakins retrieved the other sandwich for him along with the other plate of fries, replaced his plate of fries with Bobby's dinner on the night table and went to retrieve the mustard. "Eat."

Bobby looked inside the sandwich and then took the mustard. He ate. "Can I have one of those beers," he asked. Deakins looked at him and got one for each. The pair ate in silence.

Bobby finished the sandwich and most of his fries. He drained the last of the beer and put his plates back onto the cart. He stood and looked out the window at the night.

Deakins cleaned up the left over bits, covered the cake and pie and pushed the card back into his room. He brought the bottle of Scotch with him and poured them each a drink. He stepped to Bobby's side and tapped his arm, offering the drink. Bobby took it and drained the glass.

"You need to slow down with that," Deakins told him. Bobby ignored him and looked for the bottle. Deakins got it first and poured him a short one. Bobby kept his glass out and waited for Deakins to add more. He didn't and Bobby said, "Don't fuck with me. Fill it."

Deakins acquiesced and gave it another pour. "Go easy," he warned and watched Bobby drain it in two swigs.

Bobby returned to the bed and lay back, assuming the same position as earlier. Deakins said, "Why don't you get into bed, Bobby? Try to get some sleep. We can sleep in, get some breakfast and then Jack will pick us up at about ten." He got no response, so he asked, "Do you want anything?" and then regretted it.

Bobby replied with, "Leave that bottle."

Deakins did not want to do that, but he figured what he hell. He left the bottle on the dresser and returned to his room, leaving open the doors between their rooms. He stripped to boxers and undershirt, got into bed and called Angie, speaking softly so Bobby wouldn't hear.

Bobby lay in his suit trousers and dress shirt. He stared at the ceiling and his mind flitted from thought to thought. Several times, it was hard to breathe as the reality of her passing began to take solid form in his mind and heart. He didn't cry, however; he did drink, though. After about an hour of staring at the ceiling, Bobby got up from the bed and retrieved the bottle and his glass from the dresser and poured nearly a full glass of Scotch. He downed half of it in one swig, winced as it burned its way to his stomach and refilled the glass.

Sitting up with his back against the headboard, Bobby knew he was getting drunk, and was glad. Two hours later, the bottle was empty and he had moved down onto the bed and slept. He didn't dream.

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	27. Chapter 27

Intentional End

Chapter 27

Wednesday Morning

October 17

Deakins stepped into Bobby's room and saw the man on top of the bedspread, curled on his side. "Bobby, wake up," he called from the doorway between the rooms. Bobby didn't budge. Shit, Deakins thought, glancing at the empty bottle on its side on the nightstand. He walked over and stood between the beds, reached down and shook his detective, "Come on, wake up." He didn't move.

Goddamn it thought Deakins and went into the bathroom, returning with a sopping wet hand towel. He held the dripping towel with one hand and moved Bobby's legs off the bed with the other. Then, he hauled Bobby up by pulling on his upper arm. Bobby moaned and reluctantly sat up like a rag doll. Deakins hefted the sopping towel and put it on Bobby's face.

Bobby jolted and pushed and pulled away the towel, sputtering. "What the fuck are you doing?" he asked angrily, "Jesus Christ."

"Get up. Go get washed, Jack will be here in half an hour."

Bobby's head was splitting and he was blinded when Deakins swept open the drapes. "God Almighty! Shut those, will you?!"

"Get going, we have to be ready."

Bobby sat slumped on the bed, feet on the floor. He felt like shit – his head pounded and his tongue felt wrapped in wool. Slowly he rose, only because he had to pee, and shuffled toward the bathroom.

"Here, you'll need this," Deakins said and followed Bobby to the bathroom. He turned and Deakins handed him a small kit. "I called down stairs and asked if they had a toothbrush and stuff. Use these." Bobby took the offered item and shut the bathroom door.

Deakins returned to his room to call Angie and heard Bobby vomiting. Jesus Christ, Deakins thought.

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Jack was waiting in the lobby when the pair turned the corner from the elevator. He was mildly shocked at Bobby's appearance; the man looked like he had been drinking. Bobby stood to the side didn't look anyone in the eye. Jack had taken care of the bill and Deakins asked if the gentleman who had provided the food last night was around. The desk clerk stepped through the door behind the desk and Antonio returned; he looked a wreck as well.

"I want to thank you for bringing us the food last night."

Antonio just nodded and glanced at Bobby, standing staring at the floor. "It was my pleasure." It was clear the man wanted to say more and speak with Bobby. "We, uh, we here at this hotel love Dr. W. She stayed with us several times. She is a wonderful, wonderful woman." He hesitated, looked at Bobby and asked, "Do you think I might speak with her husband?"

"Of course, I think he would like that."

Antonio came around the desk and walked slowly to where Bobby stood. Bobby glanced up as the man approached.

"Mr. Goren, I, I want, your wife, she –," and he broke down. Bobby looked at the small man and put his hand on Antonio's arm. Bobby watched him cry and then joined him. Jack and Deakins looked to the floor as the detective and desk manager embraced and cried together.

Bobby spoke quietly and briefly to Antonio who nodded. They both removed handkerchiefs and then shook hands. Antonio walked back behind the desk and through the door and Bobby headed for his companions. Without a word, the three headed to the Quartermaine House and Gleason's apartment.

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"So, is this one done?" Peterson asked his subordinate.

"Yes," Wycoff answered simply.

Peterson stood and walked to the window, fuming, but masking it. "Tell me why this one required three collaterals."

He knew this was coming, he had been dreading it since the expedition began. "Look, Sutton was talking about going to the press while still at the site. He needed to be silenced. He has no family and it looked like a hit and run."

Peterson waited.

"That professor woman – she wouldn't blank. We tried everything, nothing would wipe her. Then, her goddamn husband started screwing with her response sequence and she became increasingly unstable. She needed to go."

"We'll discuss the husband. What about the neighbour?"

Wycoff sighed and proceeded to explain, "She was at the wrong place at the wrong time. That's it. Robinson did what he was trained to do, he removed a witness. That's it."

Peterson shook his head and said, "That detective husband is a smart bastard. When he finds out his neighbour was murdered, in a secured building no less, how long do you think it will take him to figure out that her death is connected to his wife's?" Peterson's volume and steam were rising.

"Look, he's not going to put anything together. His wife's death was an accident -- an old battery in a detector and a loose connection on her heater. I took care of those details personally."

"How do you know he won't put it together? This bastard is a genius for godsakes!"

A cold chill ran down Wycoff's back. He realised then the significant error it had been to snag the detective off the street that one morning. Perhaps he had underestimated the professor's husband. He didn't want Peterson to know what he had done.

Wycoff's silence prompted Peterson's suspicions. "What? Jesus Christ, do not tell me you encountered that man." Wycoff's inability to look at his boss confirmed Peterson's suspicions. "Holy Mother of God, you fucking idiot!" Peterson strode to his desk and lifted the phone.

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Gladys walked toward Gleason's apartment door with the key as the three men exited the vehicle. The estate manager was a tough old gal, but it was obvious she had been crying most of the night. "Detective," she said with her hand out, "I'm very sorry about this. I was asked to give you this envelope; it's from the owner's lawyer. You are to contact them regarding any suit you plan to bring against the estate." Bobby ignored her and the offered envelope.

Deakins took the envelope and Gladys opened the door. The three stood back, waiting for Bobby to enter. He hesitated, looked down, shuffled a bit, took a deep, shuddering breath and stepped inside. Deakins followed and then Jack; Gladys waited in the doorway. Bobby stood and looked around. He gulped breaths as he walked toward the bedroom doors. He stopped with his hand on the one and looked at the bed and began to cry in earnest. Deakins crossed to him, put his hand on his friend's shoulder, and fought his own tears.

The bedcovers were still swept back from where they covered Gleason's boy, her pillow bore the indent from where her head lay. Bobby walked to the bed and gently swept his hand over where she slept. He turned and sat, lifting her pillow to his face and sobbed into it. Deakins turned and shut the doors, leaving Bobby in private with his wife's scent.

Gladys cried softly while Deakins stood with his hands over his face. These two days were the hardest he had ever had to live. He could not imagine what Bobby was going through and he hoped he never would.

Jack said quietly, "I've got some boxes and tape in the trunk. I'll go get them."

"Give me your keys. I'll get them," Gladys offered. "Please, I need something to do."

Jack looked at the woman and handed her his key ring with the trunk key extended.

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"Who are you calling?" Wycoff asked, barely masking the tremble in his voice.

Peterson just looked at his soon-to-be-former agent and then said, "Peterson. Let me speak to him."

Wycoff began to sweat and his bowels tilted. This is it, he thought. It's real, they really do it. His hand slid over his upper lip, wiping away the beads of perspiration. "Look, uh, this, this isn't necessary. I was planning on resigning anyway."

The director turned his back and whispered into the phone, turned back to face the other man, hung up and said, "Get out of here."

Wycoff stood a minute, not understanding and then left.

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A few minutes later, Bobby emerged from the bedroom clutching Gleason's pillow and green throw. "I want to take these with me," he said softly.

"Of course, Bobby, of course. Here, set them on this chair and let's get the other things ready."

Bobby nodded and carefully set the items on the upholstered chair; Deakins moved to take Bobby's coat. Deakins and Jack removed theirs as Gladys returned with boxes and rolls of tape.

The four people stood silently still for a minute, not knowing how to begin. "What things do you want to take, Bobby?" Deakins asked finally.

Bobby looked around and returned to the bedroom. The three watched as he pulled open and then closed the drawers in her dresser, removing only her green nightgown and one undershirt, setting them on the chest at the foot of the bed. Gladys stepped between the men with a box and put the items into the box.

Bobby found her diamond wedding ring and the silver chain that had tied their rings together inside the small black drawstring bag. Beside it sat the small flat box that had held the gold and onyx necklace he had given her at the beginning of their relationship. He slipped both into the pocket inside his suit coat, next to his heart.

Finished with the dresser, Bobby moved to the closet, taking only the sweater and shawl they had purchased on their honeymoon, handing them to Gladys who folded them inside the box. Bobby removed her carpetbag from the closet floor and set it beside the box of clothing; Gladys made it fit. He bundled up her dirty clothes and carried them to the box as well.

Jack and Deakins looked around the living room and kitchen. They noticed no photos, no artwork; no personal items of any sort. Jack said to his friend, "What about her computer?"

"Yeah, I think it's hers. Is there a case somewhere?" They busied themselves packing up her technology.

Bobby looked around the bedroom, staring a long time at the bed; he seemed to rouse himself after a few minutes of staring and said quietly, "Thank you for helping me with this," to the estate manager. She nodded in return.

Bobby shuddered another deep breath and walked to the bathroom. He opened the cabinet and removed her birth control and heart pills. He took the unopened bar of cinnamon soap and removed the partial one from the shower. Her hairbrush, comb and a small box of hairpins and various clips sat on the shelf between the sink and cabinet. He gathered those things and left everything else. Gladys found several small plastic kitchen bags with a zipper closing and Bobby set the used bar of soap inside and the box of pins and clips in the other; Gladys set the bags, brush and comb in the box with the clothes.

Bobby opened and shut each kitchen drawer and cupboard, taking only the teapot, cozy and box of tea. Gladys wrapped the teapot securely and set it in among Gleason's clothes.

Bobby went to the coat closet and found Gleason's brown leather bag on the floor. He took it and set her pills inside; Deakins handed Bobby her cell phone and charger and they went into her bag as well. Bobby took her wrap and left her long coat. He checked the pockets, however and found tissues and a receipt; he put those into his pocket. He left her hat, scarf and gloves.

Bobby moved to the small file cabinet and looked through the stacks of papers on top. Folders for each of her classes and other items related to her university work were set aside on the kitchen table. Bobby took her textbooks and a box containing drafts of her third manuscript. He opened the two file drawers and closed them as they contained more files with class notes and such.

That was it. Her small apartment had been gleaned in less than an hour. The four stood quietly, as when they had when they entered.

"Anything else, Bobby?" Deakins asked. Bobby looked around from where he stood and shook his head. He picked up Gleason's pillow and throw and stood, clutching them to his chest as would a child.

"I'll tape up this box and ship it to his home in New York," Gladys offered. "You guys want to grab the computer bag and the books?"

Jack picked up the manuscript and textbooks while Deakins took the computer bag. Bobby lifted Gleason's purse and the three headed to the car. Bobby got in the back seat with his three things while the other two men organized the other things in the trunk and then reorganized them after Gladys brought the box.

"How about if we stop and get a wheeled suitcase for him to put her pillow, blanket and purse in?" Jack suggested. "Her books and papers can go in as well."

"That's good, Jack; yeah, let's do that."

They rode in silence until Jack said, "Uh, Detective, do you want to go to her office at the university?"

Bobby had thought about this. "Yeah, thanks. Margrave, she's in Margrave."

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Detectives of Midtown North finished interviewing everyone in Bobby's building at the time of the murder. No one saw or heard anything. "That's a secured building, how did the perp get in?" Eames asked Det. Morrow from Midtown North.

"That's what we're trying to figure out. We found no trace in or outside the apartment. No prints other than the old lady's. It looked like a professional kill; whoever did this had training. The old lady never knew what hit her."

Eames was exhausted. She was working the dead pilot's case herself and now the dead neighbour. Her head ached from lack of sleep and she had to get something to eat before she fell over.

"So, what are you thinking?"

"The building has no security camera, so there's nothing to watch. Perhaps the perp slipped in after a tenant – you know, caught the door before it shut. Or, he faked his way in, buzzed a tenant with a delivery, the tenant buzzed him in and off he goes."

"This old woman was not the target. Who kills an old woman for no reason? Nothing was missing, no ransack. It looked like he didn't step inside the apartment after killing her." The two detectives were silent a moment.

"You think he was after someone else and the old lady interrupted?"

Eames went cold. Bobby. They were after Bobby. And Gleason, but she had already left. But they would know that, wouldn't they? Eames' mind raced to remember what Bobby had told her about his suspicions regarding the work Gleason had been off doing. He said she had been abducted by the government. The FBI.

Det. Morrow watched her think, "What are you thinking?"

"Uh, I need to make a few phone calls. Where can I reach you?"

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Jack Emerson drove to the university and parked in the lot nearest Margrave. The trio walked to the second floor and stopped at the receptionist desk in the faculty office area. Mrs. Cornwell sat with red eyes, wiping her nose. A plump student stood off to the side, wiping her eyes.

Seeing Bobby enter the area, Mrs. Cornwall stood up and exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. Goren, oh God, I am so, so sorry!" coming around the desk, her weeping increasing. Bobby stopped, stepped back and put up two hands, palms out. He didn't look at anyone.

"We're here to remove Dr. Wintermantle's personal effects," Jack said to the woman with some authority, displaying his badge.

"Certainly, certainly. Go on back." Mrs. Cornwall stepped aside and Bobby led the way to his late wife's office.

Bobby opened the door and Malcolm Conway turned from the window.

"What the fuck are you doing here you bastard?" Bobby growled.

Malcolm had been crying and wiped his face with his hands so he wasn't prepared for Bobby's lunge. Both Deakins and Jack were surprised by Bobby's move and missed grabbing him. Bobby was on Malcolm in an instant and had him pushed against the window, his hands around the professor's throat.

Deakins and Jack dragged Bobby off the other man and Jack pushed him into Gleason's desk chair. Deakins stood between the two and told Malcolm to leave.

Malcolm rubbed his throat and coughed. He headed for the door, stopped, turned and said to Bobby, "I loved her, too." Malcolm turned and left.

Bobby sat gasping, his head was going to split wide open, and he thought he was going to throw up. He bent, elbows on knees, head in his hands.

"Jesus Christ, Bobby! Who the hell was that? Do you want to be charged with assault?" Deakins almost shouted.

He sat up, ignored his boss, wiped his face with his hands, turned and pulled open Gleason's top desk drawer. His eyes swept the contents and he pushed it shut. He yanked open the top drawer on the left, scanned and slammed it shut. He did the same with each of the drawers on both sides until the last one. He pulled open the last drawer on the right and stopped. It was flat, wrapped in brown paper, tied with strands of orange paper ribbon and he recognised it.

Bobby set it on the desktop and ran his hands over the paper, his head tilted to the left. Finally, he said, "There's nothing here. Let's go," he stood, picked up the package, came around the desk and headed down the hall. Bobby walked straight through the main hall, down the steps and out into the air. Deakins and Jack followed him.

"Metro Air has flights to New York just about every two hours. Let's go get a suitcase and some lunch if he wants and then we'll head to O'Hare." Bobby didn't even listen; he sat in the back seat and stroked the paper covering the book she had bought for him.

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	28. Chapter 28

Intentional End

Chapter 28

Afternoon Wednesday

October 17

Detectives of Midtown North finished interviewing everyone in Bobby's building at the time of the murder. No one saw or heard anything. Eames met with Detective Andy Morrow, senior investigator on the case, at his office at the Midtown North precinct. "That's a secured building, how did the perp get in?" Eames asked.

"That's what we're trying to figure out. We found no trace in or outside the apartment. No prints other than the old lady's. It looked like a professional kill; whoever did this had training. The old lady never knew what hit her."

Eames was exhausted. She was working the dead pilot's case herself and now assisting with Bobby's dead neighbour. Her head ached from lack of sleep and she had to get something to eat before she fell over.

"So, what are you thinking?"

"The building has no security camera, so there's nothing to watch. Perhaps the perp slipped in after a tenant – you know, caught the door before it shut. Or, he faked his way in, buzzed a tenant with a delivery, the tenant buzzed him in and off he goes."

Eames had considered this, "But, I don't think this old woman was the target. Who kills an old woman for no reason? Nothing was missing, no ransack. It looked like he killed her in the doorway and then didn't step inside the apartment afterward." The two detectives were silent a moment.

"You think he was after someone else and the old lady interrupted?"

Eames went cold. Bobby. They were after Bobby. And Gleason, but she had already left. Eames' mind raced to remember what Bobby had told her about his suspicions regarding the work Gleason had been away doing. He said she had been abducted by the government. The FBI.

Det. Morrow watched her, "What are you thinking?"

"Uh, I need to make a few phone calls. Where can I reach you later?"

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Late Wednesday Afternoon

Deakins drove from JFK back to One Police Plaza and helped Bobby load the suitcase and Gleason's computer bag into his SUV. "Are you going to be ok?" he asked.

Bobby shuffled and looked at the floor. "No, never again," he muttered. "Uh, thanks, Captain . . . for going with me, helping me. Thanks." Bobby glanced at his boss in the way he does.

Deakins looked at the other man, he looked terrible. "Bobby, I am so sorry about Gleason." He handed Bobby a large brown envelope, "You wanted her autopsy report." Bobby took it and turned it over in his hands. He looked up and nodded. "Listen, take as much time as you need. Let me know if you need anything. I'll call you tomorrow."

Bobby just looked down and nodded. He was exhausted, "I want to talk with Rodgers before I leave."

Deakins nodded and the pair walked silently to the elevator. Deakins pushed the call button and then asked, "Do you want me to go with you?"

"No, uh, thanks though. Captain, thanks for everything." Bobby turned and faced his boss, "I couldn't have done this by myself. Thank you." The men looked at each other and nothing else needed to be said. The elevator doors opened and they entered.

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"Detective, I am so sorry," Dr. Rodgers said softly, seeing Bobby enter.

Bobby put up two hands and shook his head. He couldn't look at her and he had to wait a moment before he could speak, "Uh, they're, they're sending her body here. I want you to repeat the autopsy. Check everything, all of her fluids, hair, nails; a complete workup – everything."

"Of course," was all Rodgers could manage; Bobby nodded his thanks and left.

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Deakins took the elevator to the fifteenth floor and asked to see the Chief. He was shown in immediately and relayed the details to his boss.

"So the Evanston PD is certain it was an accident?"

"Yes. Their preliminary findings indicate so. They're continuing to investigate, but it looks like a dead battery in the detector and a broken connector on the heater."

"Something so simple." The chief shook his head and then continued, "Jimmy, do anything you need to do to help him. Anything, understand?"

"Yes."

"Let me know what you find out."

Deakins returned to the elevator and took it down to the eleventh floor.

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Eames was at her desk when Deakins rounded the corner from the elevator, he looked like hell. People stopped and watched, the room fell silent and remained subdued after Deakins entered his office. Eames stood and followed him in, shutting the door behind her.

"How is he?"

Deakins dropped into his chair and sat forward, elbows on the desktop, head in his hands. "She was pregnant."

"Oh dear God," Eames gasped, sitting down hard. "How far?"

"Thirteen weeks."

Her mind flew to her own pregnancy at thirteen weeks. "Did he know?"

"I don't think so by his reaction."

The pair sat quietly, then Deakins sat back and said, "This is going to unhinge him. He'll never be right after this. His mother, his wife, his baby – Jesus Christ."

Eames wiped her nose and asked, "What happens next?"

Deakins shuddered a sigh and relayed the details concerning Gleason's body being shipped to Rodgers. "I bet he'll have Rodgers repeat the autopsy."

Eames nodded. "Is there anything I can do? Anything you want me to do?"

"He needs to be alone for awhile. He's going to get dead drunk; he finished a bottle of scotch last night. We need to keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

"You don't think he'd do that, do you?" Eames asked with some alarm.

"Alex, you know he's not wrapped real tight on a good day. Who knows how his mind works. We just need to make sure he's eating, sleeping and not drinking himself to death."

Eames could not imagine her partner hurting himself. Bobby was too strong and smart to take the coward's way out. He may destroy himself with drinking, smoking and not eating, but he would not end himself suddenly.

They sat quietly for a moment and then Deakins asked, "Do you have a key to his apartment?"

"No."

"Chances are excellent he won't answer the door or the phone. Work out something with his building manager and keep me informed on how he is. What did you find out about his neighbour's murder?"

Eames relayed her conversation with Det. Morrow from Midtown North.

"Do you think Bobby or Gleason were the intended targets?" he asked.

"It could be anyone on that floor, in the building. But – I don't know." Eames wanted to know if Deakins knew about Bobby's theory on Gleason being abducted by the government. "Captain, Bobby told me he thought Gleason was taken by the government to do some work. That's why she was gone all those weeks."

Deakins was surprised that Eames knew, that Bobby told her. "He told you this? What else did he tell you?" Deakins wanted to know if Eames had been warned as he had.

"He didn't say much; just that she had been abducted and he didn't know when she would be returned."

By her demeanour, Deakins figured she had not been contacted and thought it was odd that she hadn't been. "Did he ask you to help him find her? Help him in any way?"

"No, he was drunk and just beginning to sober up. He was pretty much rambling." She hesitated admitting the next bit, but continued, "It was, the, the night before I was late for that interview." Eames actually blushed, even though she had no reason to.

Deakins was exhausted and wanted to speak to Rodgers before he went home. "Ok. Nothing's going to get done today. I'm going home and will be back sometime tomorrow."

Eames stepped aside as the Captain came around his desk.

Deakins returned to the elevator and took it down to the morgue.

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Rodgers lifted the clear facemask and set down the striker saw she was using to remove the cranial cap from a bloated, blue body on the steel table in front of her. She walked over to the captain and said, "How are you doing?"

"Did he stop here?"

"Yeah. Holy Mother of God, that poor man; first his mother, now this."

"Jack Emerson from the Evanston PD will be calling you to arrange delivery of her body."

"Detective Goren asked me to redo the autopsy and run a full screen. She's at the top of the list when she gets here." It was hard not to refer to the body as the woman herself.

"Did he give you a copy of the report from Evanston?"

"No, I wouldn't look at it anyway; not until my work is done." The pair stood, not knowing what else to say. Then, Rodgers asked, "He was barely hanging on when he was in here. Is he going to come back from this?"

"I'm worried what this will do to him. I need to call Dr. Stephens, his psychiatrist. He stopped seeing her soon after he and Gleason married. He's going to need to see someone." Again they stood quietly. "Let me know when she gets here." Deakins turned and headed for the elevators. He walked like an old man.

Rodgers sighed and then flipped the mask back over her face and returned to the swollen corpse.

Deakins returned to the elevator and took it down to the lower parking deck.

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Bobby stopped at a package store and bought two bottles of scotch. Then, he drove home and was lucky to find a spot right in front of his building. Once inside his apartment, he set Gleason's computer bag inside the closet and suitcase on the sofa and threw his coat over the back of his chair in the living room. He removed her pillow and throw, took them to the bedroom, and went back for a bottle of scotch and a glass. He picked up the paper-wrapped book and the brown envelope containing the autopsy report, locked the door, set the bolt, turned off the light and headed down the hall.

He shut the bedroom door setting the book and envelope on the bed and the bottle and glass on the nightstand. Then he stripped and poured himself a drink, downing it in one swig. He pushed aside the book and envelope, pulled her pillow and throw to the top, sat down and unplugged the land line. He refilled his glass, downed it and refilled it, laying back, her pillow and throw beside him.

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Alex spoke into the call box beside the front door of Bobby's building. "Yes, this is Detective Alex Eames of Major Case Squad; I spoke with you regarding the murder here and, and about Bobby Goren's wife. I need to speak with you." The buzzer sounded and she pulled open the door.

Ted and Becky Oelwein were standing in the hall outside their apartment as Eames crested the stairs.

"Can we speak inside, please?" Eames replied.

The trio entered the Oelwein apartment and Ted shut the door. "How is he?"

Eames struggled to remain professional, but the quiver in her voice betrayed her, "Uh, he got back this afternoon and is destroyed. Our captain wants to have access to his apartment to keep an eye on him."

"You mean like give you a key to his apartment?" Ted asked.

"Yes."

"He's got a flip bar; it's like a chain only it's a double bar and is ten times stronger than any chain. Bobby had me install it after Gleason moved in. I'll give you a key, but I don't think you'll get past the bar."

Eames had considered that Bobby would have additional, and the best, security. "Well, chances are excellent we won't even need the key. He's not stupid."

They stood quietly and then Becky asked, "What about services for Gleason?"

Eames sighed and said, "Nothing's been done. The Evanston PD is sending her body to our ME."

Becky went to the key cupboard and removed the last key from the hook at 4B and a lobby door key. She retuned and handed them to Eames. "Is there anything we can do?"

Eames looked down and shook her head; she had no idea what anyone could do. "I don't know. Just be available if he needs you, I guess."

Ted and Becky nodded and Eames nodded in return and said, "Thanks, we'll get these back to you when we're done with it."

"Sure," Ted answered.

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Eames entered the hall and stopped in front of Bobby's apartment. She imagined him in there, lost in his grief, drinking himself blind. She wanted to knock on the door and hold him, comfort him, tell him it will all be ok. But she knew none of that would ever happen. She walked to the end of the hall and continued down the stairs.

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Bobby lay across the bed, staring at the ceiling, his glass resting on his chest. He fully intended to drink himself to death. He knew that wouldn't happen, however; he would drink to a point and then his body would vomit it all out. He hated that about himself.

He sat up and tossed back the rest of the scotch in his glass, grimaced and then refilled it, tossing back that one as well and filled it again.

Slow down, you son-of-a-bitch, he told himself, you're drinking like your old man. That sorry excuse for a father is dead, too. Mom is dead. The baby boy is dead. This baby is dead. But he couldn't make himself think it; he couldn't make himself admit that his wife is dead.

Just Frank now – good ole' big brother Frank. Shit, he was pissed because Dad had no money except to bury him; he was pissed because Mom had no money except to bury her.

Now I have to bury my wife.

Bobby wiped a hand over his face and hitched a few breaths. He knew he was well on his way to getting drunk; that was his intent – drink until he didn't have to think. He figured that tomorrow he would be sufficiently hung over to be preoccupied with his physical misery and would not have the wherewithal to suffer his emotional misery. Sounds like a plan to me, he thought, and tossed down his drink and filled it again.

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	29. Chapter 29

Intentional End

Chapter 29

Very Early Thursday Morning

October 18

Gleason's body arrived at OPP at twelve-eighteen AM. Rodgers had left word for her to be called the minute it got there; she arrived at one-twelve. Gleason's second autopsy, save for the fluids, hair and nail screens, was finished at three-twenty.

The medical examiner was not prepared for what she found on Gleason's back; she had never seen anything like it. Rodgers examined the intricate design that had been burned into the skin and photographed the Celtic knot from every angle. Where in the hell did she get this, Rodgers wondered, it took months to do this; the pain must have been incredible, the risk of infection off the charts. A cult, tribe? Rodgers wanted to talk with Bobby about this, but didn't think that day would ever come.

Jesus, she was pregnant, Rodgers thought sadly. She stood over the body of the beautiful, young woman who had made that sweet, awkward detective so happy and thought, what a waste. She thought of the baby that almost was; this wasn't her first pregnancy, Rodgers noted. Bobby's wife hadn't delivered, but she had been pregnant within the last eighteen months. The ME figured the woman probably miscarried as she found no scarring to indicate an abortion. She would have carried this one to term, Rodgers sighed and then she smiled at the thought of Bobby Goren as a father; he would have been a wonderful dad.

The ME worked hard not to let her work get personal. Occasionally, though, one snuck through and tugged at her heart; Gleason grabbed hold and held on. Rodgers sniffed, wiped her nose on her sleeve, pulled the sheet over the body and shoved the steel table back into the cold unit at four-twenty-nine.

She dictated her results and sent them upstairs electronically at four-oh-six, bumping four reports ahead of it. A hard copy would be ready for Captain Deakins by ten this morning.

Rodgers left the parking deck at four-forty.

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Early Thursday Morning

Eames stopped by Bobby's apartment before going into work. She expected him to be passed out and hoped he hadn't set the flip bar on the door. She found a parking spot down the block from his place and rang his cell; as she expected, he didn't answer.

Eames called his land line as she walked to his building and again as she trudged up the steps. She knocked on the door and hollered, "Bobby, it's me, Alex. Open up."

Nothing.

"Bobby." She listened and heard nothing. He's probably in the bedroom, she reasoned. "Bobby?" she called a bit louder and still heard nothing. Eames rapped harder, "Come on, Bobby, let me in." Involuntarily, she tensed – what if he. . .

She had just inserted the key when she heard the bolt click from the inside and then a second snap that must have been the flip bar. She withdrew the key and opened the door; he was heading back down the hallway, and turned into the bathroom. She watched the door shut and then heard him vomit.

Eames closed her eyes, shook her head and went to make coffee. She was putting bread into the toaster when she heard the shower. Good, she thought and waited before depressing the lever.

She called the department and left a message for the captain as to where she was; he hadn't made it in yet.

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Bobby was clean, his hair a mass of tight, wet curls, but he looked like hell, he hadn't shaved and his tee shirt was on backwards. He didn't say anything as he crossed to the cabinet to the left of the sink and removed the aspirin bottle. Eames watched him shake four tablets into his palm, toss them into his mouth, turn on the faucet and bend to drink from the stream.

He straightened and slammed shut his eyes, grabbing hold of the counter. Then he took half a step back, placed his palms on the front of the sink and leaned forward, gagging once. Eames was tempted to put her hand on his back, to steady him, comfort him – how she wanted to – but she didn't.

Bobby sucked deep breaths and then straightened again. He gave his partner a sidelong glance and then sat at the table. Eames poured them both a cup of coffee and sat across from him. Neither had said a word yet.

They sat silently for several minutes and finally Eames said so softly, "Bobby."

He just shut his eyes and shook his head.

Eames stood and opened the refrigerator, "I'm going to make you some breakfast."

"I don't want anything," he whispered.

"Too bad, because you are going to eat."

He sat quietly, hands over his face.

Eames made eggs and toast. She set it in front of him and held out the fork for him to take. He glanced at it, took it and began to eat. When he was finished, she took his plate, refilled his cup and hers then sat.

He sat looking at the tabletop and then glanced up at her as he took his cup. "Thanks."

"What can I do to help you, Bobby?"

He heaved a deep, sad sigh and said softly, "Make her be alive." He stood and shuffled into the living room and dropped into his chair.

She sat a moment and then followed, taking a seat on the sofa. "Do you want me to contact the funeral home?"

He didn't respond.

"Why don't we write her obituary?"

He ignored her. They sat in silence for several minutes and she stood.

"Will, will you come back after work?" he asked softly, standing.

"Of course, of course, I will, Bobby."

He nodded and followed her to the door. "Alex."

Eames turned and looked up at him.

"Alex, I need you to help me find out who did this. Please help me. No one will help me."

Eames put a hand on her partner's arm, "Bobby, I'll do anything you want me to do."

He nodded again and shut the door after her, locking it, but not setting the flip bar. He turned and looked around, seeing Gleason everywhere. The ivy from her wedding bouquet sat thriving in a small flower pot on the short bookcase beside his chair. The Ruben Lesky first editions she had gotten him sat in a short row on the eye-level shelf of the tall bookcase; the boutonnière she had designed for him lay in front them. The teapot and cozy were in their place on the kitchen counter with her chamomile tea bags in the basket beside them.

Bobby knew it was way too early to have a drink; he did consider it, however. Instead, he walked back to the bedroom and changed into jeans and a sweater.

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Noon

Deakins pulled into the parking deck shortly before noon; Angie let him sleep in as her husband was physically and emotionally depleted. He met the ME walking toward the elevator; she was just getting in after her short night. They entered the elevator and Rodgers pressed the button for the morgue.

"She's done," Rodgers said stoically.

"All ready?" Deakins asked with obvious surprise.

"She arrived just after midnight. I'd left word to be called when she got here. The report should be on your desk by now."

"Thanks for the hurry. Did you find anything different from the Evanston report?"

The doors opened and they both stepped out and remained by the elevator. "No, I read theirs after I dictated mine." Deakins and Rodgers stood quietly for a moment and then she said softly, "I can't believe she was pregnant."

"I know."

Rodgers wanted to speak with Deakins about the scars on Gleason's back. "Uh, Captain, do you have a moment to look at some photos?"

Deakins looked at her questioningly, and answered, "Sure. Photos of what?"

"I'll show you."

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Wycoff couldn't stop looking around as he loaded his bag into the trunk of his car; he was 'getting out of Dodge' as they say. He had checked out of the by-the-week efficiency and was going to disappear.

The trunk lid slammed shut and Wycoff rounded the end of his car, he pulled open the driver side door and then he heard it.

He stopped and turned around.

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Bobby left his apartment and turned to lock it just as Ted came up the steps.

"Bobby," he said softly, stepping to his friend.

Bobby looked down and put up his hands. He couldn't look at anyone, not yet. And he certainly could not talk to anyone.

"Ok, ok," Ted continued gently. "When-, whenever you're ready, you let us know. Do you need anything? Do you have enough to eat?"

"Please, Ted," Bobby barely whispered and stepped from his door, around his friend, and headed for the stairs.

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"Jesus," Deakins said softly as he examined the photos of Gleason's back. "What is this? Who is this?"

"These are photos of Gleason Wintermantle's back."

Deakins looked at her with shock.

"Someone burned a Celtic knot into her back using a strong, corrosive acid. Has Goren ever said anything about Gleason belonging to a cult or anything?"

"No. He, they, they are pretty private people. How old are these scars?"

"Well, it was done over months, perhaps a year. I'd say the most recent are probably two, maybe three, years old."

After another silent moment, Deakins said, "Let's, uh, let's keep this information confidential. Goren doesn't need to know we've seen this."

Rodgers nodded and said, "I need to know where to send her body. Has Goren said anything about that?"

"No." Deakins rubbed his forehead and continued, "Uh, listen, I'm, I'm probably going to have to do a lot of this. I'll call the funeral home that did his mother's funeral, McFarland; they'll take her from here." Rodgers nodded and Deakins continued, "Thanks again for rushing her workup."

"It's what I do."

Deakins pushed the elevator call button and Rodgers turned and continued down the hall.

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The screaming tires told Wycoff, 'this is it.' Before he could even react, the car careened straight into him as he stood by the open driver's side door; the impact was deafening. The agent and the door flew, his body twisting in the air and then slamming head first onto the hood, setting off the annoying alarm, and sliding head first onto the street. The car door sailed on, hitting the pavement and careening to a stop against a hydrant.

The dark blue sedan suffered a crushed passenger side front corner, but kept on going, accelerating down the street, taking the corner on two wheels. The few people on the street looked, but saw nothing. No one could get a license number as the plate had been removed. They ran to the crumpled body, two already dialling 9-1-1.

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"Has anyone heard anything about what happened to her?" Perkins asked Eames in the coffee room.

"No, not yet."

"How's Goren?"

She didn't know how to respond at first and kept her eyes on her cup, "Not good." Eames looked up into Perkins' kind, bland face, "He's not good." She couldn't say another word without breaking down.

Perkins shook his head and said, "God, I can't even imagine what he's going through. His wife is gone for all those weeks, his mother dies, then his wife dies. Dear God."

Eames protected the detail about Gleason's pregnancy.

Perkins looked at the best shot in the department and thought how lucky Goren was to have her by his side. "Let me know if I can do anything, Alex. If you or Goren need anything, let me know."

Eames nodded and returned to her desk.

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Bobby drove to McFarland's Funeral Home and parked in the back. He walked around to the front and entered. A slender, older woman walked toward him, "May I help you?"

He shuffled in a box like he does and wiped his face with his hands, "I, uh, I, I," and then he cried.

The woman stepped to him and wrapped an arm around him; she had seen so many people in so much pain. "Here, Dear, sit over here," she shushed to him, guiding him to a sofa.

Bobby sat and struggled to compose himself, rubbing his hands on his thighs.

"Mother?" a short, trim man said softly as he entered the room. "Mr. Goren?" Matt McFarland crossed the short distance and stood in front of the man he recognised from a few weeks ago. "Thank you, Mother, I'll take it from here."

"Can I get either of you anything?" she asked as she stood.

Bobby shook his head as did her son and she left.

"Mr. Goren, what's happened?"

He cleared his throat and managed, "My, my wife. She's at the ME. . ." Bobby gulped a breath.

"Gleason Wintermantle? She's your wife?"

Bobby nodded and looked at Matt questioningly.

"I just got a message to pick up at the ME's office." Matt put a hand on Bobby's shoulder.

They sat quietly and then Bobby began, "She was murdered in Evanston. She was pregnant." Bobby turned to face the other man, "I, I want to see her. They wouldn't let me see her very long. I want to see her." And Bobby cried again.

Matt couldn't believe what he was hearing. Murdered? Wife? We just buried his mother a few weeks ago, he thought, this poor guy – his mother, now his wife. Matt McFarland wondered why this man's wife was not at his side through that ordeal.

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The blue sedan screeched to a halt half way down the block and the driver jumped out, leaving the car running, right in the middle of the street. He ran around the front and got into the black car waiting at the curb. As soon as he was in, that car peeled away and sped to the corner, turned left and was lost in traffic.

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	30. Chapter 30

AN – Please re-read Chapter 29 as it has been revised and the changes affect this chapter. Thank you to everyone who reads; especially those who take the time to review – 'tis appreciated greatly.

Intentional End

Chapter 30

Thursday Afternoon

October 18

Matt and Bobby sat quietly for a moment, and then Matt asked, "What can I do for you? Do you know what you want?"

Bobby had to stand up; he had to move, so he walked to a painting on the far wall. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the seascape, thinking. Matt knew to wait quietly. "Uh, I want her cremated. I want to take her ashes back to Scotland." Bobby turned and continued, "No services. Just me. I want to be with her. There is no one else. Just me." He struggled and the tears fell.

"Whatever you want," Matt replied.

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Deakins crossed the squad room to his office and, again, people stopped and watched, each wondering about Goren, their colleague and friend. Eames waited for Deakins to get settled and then stood at his door.

He looked up and said, "Have you seen him, talked to him?"

She entered and closed the door, standing in front of the boss's desk. "I went by his place this morning on my way in. He let me in."

Deakins' eyebrows shot up. "Was he drunk?"

"He, he had been drinking – he was hung over. I made him coffee and breakfast and he ate." Eames said all of this looking at the floor.

"Did he tell you anything?"

She looked up at him and said, "He asked me to help him find out who did this to Gleason. He said no one else would help him."

Deakins felt as though he'd been slapped. His eyes shot away and he shifted uncomfortably. He thought a long moment, wiped his right hand over his mouth and then said, "Sit down."

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"What about an obituary?"

Bobby sniffed and pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket. He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat, then said, "No, no obituary, nothing. I just want to see her when she gets here and then I want her ashes."

"Certainly." The pair was quiet and then Matt suggested, "Do you want to keep some of her ashes?"

Bobby's eyes shot to the other man, "Yes. Yes, I would. Can you do that? Prepare . . .?" he didn't have the words.

"Yes, Mr. Goren, we do this all the time. We'll prepare a package for you to return to Scotland and an urn or nice box for you to keep."

Bobby nodded. Suddenly, a wee bit of the weight lifted from him. He could keep her near him, forever.

"Would you like to choose something for you to keep?"

Again, Bobby nodded and Matt led him through a door to a display room.

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"Jesus, this guy came down on his head," the first responding officer said to his partner as Detectives Amber Lockworth and Carla Jymosowicz of the Seventh Precinct arrived.

Lockworth went to the body and Jymosowicz went to the officer. "Whatcha got here?" Jymosowicz asked.

"Looks like a hit and run, plain and simple," the officer surreptitiously looked the detective up and down

Lockworth finished pulling on the latex and crouched over the body, patting gently for a wallet. Ah, here we are, she said to herself, pulling the tri-fold from his right rear pocket, 'Agent Philip Wycoff, FBI.' Well, she thought, got us a Fed. She looked over the body, noting its position and injuries as the photographer shot everything from every angle. Finished, she stood and returned to her partner's side, "Got us an FBI boy, we do, we do."

Jymosowicz could barely stand her partner on a good day; so far, this was not a good day. "So, we hand this over to the Feds. Want me to call it in?"

"Nah, I'll do it." She turned back and looked at the body again, "Well, the car didn't kill him, broke both legs, probably his hips and pelvis, but it didn't kill him." Lockworth paused for effect.

Jymosowicz waited and then said with exasperation, "For God's sake, Amber, how did he die?"

"Broken neck. My bet is he was hit, flew, landed on the hood head first, and then slid to the ground on his noggin." She glanced at her partner, "Wanna bet? I'll spot you fifty that the ME confirms every detail. What do you say? Fifty?"

Jymosowicz rolled her eyes and walked toward the two officers.

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Bobby and Matt stood at the entrance, "You'll call me? As soon as she gets here, you'll call me?"

"Yes, I have your cell number. I'll call you. It will be sometime this afternoon."

Bobby nodded and left. He went around the building to his vehicle and sat, deciding what to do. He wanted to talk with Rodgers, but didn't want to see anyone at OPP. He shuddered a deep breath, started the car and headed to the NYC Diocese Cemetery on First Avenue; he needed to talk with his mom.

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"Yeah, Peterson."

"It's done," Drumiester said simply.

"No complications?"

"Nope, only two witnesses and they didn't see anything. It's done."

"Good. Enjoy your weekend."

Drumiester flipped shut his phone and was surprised that he felt a little bad. He never particularly cared for Wycoff as a boss, but they had shared some tantalising tales of tail. But, he thought, that guy had a weird streak, he enjoyed sex way too much. Drumiester liked a piece of ass as much as anyone, but Wycoff – he talked about it all the time. Never one for protocols and deportment in the first place, Drumiester actually started getting a little uncomfortable listening to Wycoff go on; it was the way he told those stories – like he was reliving it. Drumiester once noticed Wycoff become erect as he shared.

The beginning of Wycoff's demise, Drumiester thought, was encountering the professor's husband that morning – hauling him off the street into the car like that. Wycoff just _had_ to gloat to the professor's husband about the sex he'd seen them have. Drumiester was certain Wycoff had burned a copy of them doing it; he had told Drumiester every detail and said he was going to make a copy. Now, in light of what ultimately happened to Wycoff, Drumiester was kind of glad that he hadn't copied the hump session he had observed, wanking off while watching was enough. He checked his watch, finished his coffee and thought, the goddamn bastard got what he deserved.

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Peterson hung up and put his hands flat on the desk top. Thank God, this is over, he thought, what a mess. He walked to the window thinking over this assignment. He'd never been involved with anything like it – no one had. The expedition had been the best kept secret on the planet; fewer than a dozen people knew the whole story. Of course, nothing much was learned from it; nevertheless, the impact – if the world ever learned of it – would shatter all anyone knew or believed.

From the beginning, Peterson knew that it was going to be a struggle to maintain secrecy. The six participating scientists were the number one liability. All but two had been successfully wiped; they had no memory of anything thanks to the government's new course of drug therapy combined with hypno-manipulation. The new procedures had been fail safe – until that linguist woman from Northwestern; what a piece of work she was, she just would not blank. Peterson told himself that he had no alternative but to remove her. If she had just blanked, if … yeah, if. Sutton, that metallurgist from LA, was the first casualty. That guy knew right away what the artefact was and couldn't wait to spill what he knew. He was removed in short order.

The director returned to his chair and leaned back, still thinking. That son of a bitch Wycoff caused the third fatality, the husband's neighbour. Even though Robinson did the deed, it was Wycoff who was the lead agent, responsible for maintaining silence and equilibrium; as such, he assumed responsibility for all aspects of the mission – good and bad. Wycoff had done a good job for the most part; but there was something about that guy … something twisted. Peterson always suspected that Wycoff had a seedy side, nothing to betray the agency, mind you, just something in his personal life. Peterson wondered if Wycoff had some kind of addiction that he could mask; or, if he was a closet paedophile or submissive or something along those lines.

Well, none of it mattered now, it was done. Peterson sat up and opened the secure file on his computer and read the brief for his next assignment.

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Eames sat and Deakins stood, put his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor. "I shouldn't be talking about this to you, but it has all gone too far. Besides, I think it's over – they did what they had to do and now it's over. It doesn't matter anymore."

Eames had no idea what he was talking about. Deakins looked at her and asked, "Were you ever contacted by the feds?"

"No. Captain, what is this about? What's over?" Eames was truly at a loss.

With his back to her, Deakins said, "Alex, I don't have all the details, but – but Gleason was involved in some government project that required ultimate confidence." He turned and faced her. "I'm not clear on how and why she was involved, but Bobby claimed she was abducted." He returned to his seat, "You know how he is; he feels everything a thousand times more deeply than the rest of us. An agent, Wycoff, came here to tell him about Gleason's involvement and to not investigate her whereabouts. Well, Bobby did just that and wanted me to help him."

Eames noticed the change in Deakins demeanour – fear and regret mixed with his resignation.

"But I couldn't, I couldn't. Wycoff told me to make sure Bobby didn't investigate or do anything to learn about the work Gleason was doing. I told him I was Bobby's friend and would do what any friend would do. He said it was too bad that I would put a friend above family."

"He threatened your family?" Eames asked incredulously.

Deakins looked at the desktop, "Alex, I could not put my family in harm's way. Wycoff said that the young are the easiest to hurt because they are vulnerable and trusting." He looked up and continued, "They were going to kidnap Julie. And then they would take Angie." He paused and then, "I couldn't help Bobby, I wanted to, but I couldn't."

Eames was flabbergasted, she didn't know what to say, and needed more information. "This is incredible. Gleason was working for the government those weeks she was gone?"

The captain nodded, "I have no idea what kind of work she was doing or where she was. She's an ancient languages linguist, so it had to do with some kind of old writing." It was hard not to use the present tense when speaking of her.

"What else did Bobby tell you?"

Oh, this next part was going to be hard, "He told me that he thought she had been raped."

"Oh dear God."

"And, that their apartment had been bugged – sound and camera."

"What?! How did he know this?"

"Wycoff pulled him off the street early one morning and goaded him with talk about – what he had seen them do in bed."

Eames blushed and looked away. Dear God, Bobby is such a private person to begin with; to know that he had been watched making love to his wife would infuriate him.

Deakins continued, "That new kid in surveillance came to me and said that Bobby had checked out a government grade sweeper and that he had found a camera."

This was all too much, Eames looked straight at her boss, "Bobby claims Gleason was murdered. Was she?"

"It wouldn't surprise me."

The pair was quiet for a minute, and then Eames asked, "So, what are we going to do?"

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Bobby walked to his mother's plot, still mounded with clumps of dirt, the sod not yet applied. He wanted to talk with her. He wanted to tell her about Gleason being dead, that they murdered her, that she was pregnant, that his soul had been ripped out, that he didn't think he could live anymore, that he hurt like he never imagined one could hurt, that . . . that he was alone, so alone.

He felt like he was fourteen again and wanted to talk with his mom about this girl he had liked. But his mother had been really out of it back then and was no good to talk with. He had wanted to talk with his dad about the girl, he wanted to know what to say to her, what to do to make her like him. But his father had gotten drunk, lost a load at the track and left for two weeks. Bobby wanted to talk with Frank about this girl, Frank knew a lot about girls, he had lots of girlfriends. But his brother just laughed and made fun of Bobby, said he was a nerdy freaky geek and should go jerk off as that was the only sex he would ever get.

Bobby squatted down beside his mother's grave and spoke aloud to her, telling her everything. And, in his mind, his mother listened, ran her hand over his head, put her palm against his cheek and told him it would all be ok. She said she was proud of him, that he was smart and brave. How he was a good husband and would have been a good father. Bobby talked and cried and his mother loved him.

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Slowly, Bobby walked back to his car and didn't know what to do, where to go. Part of him wanted to go back to the funeral home and wait for Gleason's body to arrive. It had occurred to him to go to the ME's office and be with her there, but, he would have had no privacy. Bobby wanted to be alone with his wife; he needed to see her, talk to her.

He stepped up into his vehicle and sat.


	31. Chapter 31

Intentional End

Chapter 31

Thursday Late Afternoon

October 18

Eames returned to her desk after talking with Deakins and thought about what to do first. Finish that dead pilot case, she thought.

One by one, individuals in the squad room made their way over to her, asking about Bobby. She told them that he was in shock, it looked like an accident, nothing was known about services and she didn't know when he would be back. Each person offered to assist in any way. Eames thanked them and tried to refocus after each interruption.

Eventually, the last of the paperwork was in order and she prepared it to be delivered to Carver's office. Then, she called the new guy at the FBI.

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Through the windshield, Bobby watched the autumn leaves drift from the trees surrounding the cemetery and thought, Gleason loved the autumn; she said the island where she spent her early childhood had autumn weather year round. It was her season, Bobby thought. Her hair was the colour of maple leaves gone golden, just into the red; and it blew out behind her like a sail of leaves from a tree. Her cheeks would redden in the cool air, the colour of mackintosh apples. How she would layer clothing on cool days; at night she snuggled close to him, "nestling weather," she would say.

The ring of his cell made him jump. "Goren," he said and then listened. "Ok, yeah. I'm, I'm on my way. Thanks. Ok, around back."

He flipped shut his phone and went to see his wife.

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Eames rang Sledge's cell and left a message. She wasn't sure how Edward might help, but he was inside the FBI now and that was worth something. It would be odd, talking with him again, especially after the way they left it. Eames missed him on one level, still had feelings for him; and, she thought she had feelings for Peter. Eames was mildly surprised to discover that the old feelings she had for Bobby were back; feelings that had been shut in a drawer when she and Edward started their relationship. She looked at her watch and thought about going to Bobby's apartment, but it was too early.

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Matt McFarland met Bobby at the back door of the funeral home, neither saying a word. Bobby followed Matt down a wide, painted brick hallway to a plain white door.

"She's in here, Mr. Goren. You take as much time as you need." Matt put a hand on the other man's upper arm and squeezed. Then he pushed open the door and Bobby entered what looked like a sitting room.

Gleason lay on a gurney with a sheet covering her from toes to neck. Bobby stood by the door a minute, not afraid, not embarrassed, but suddenly shy with his wife's body. Then he crossed and looked at her. He hitched a sob and breathed fast and shallowly.

She looked asleep, but wasn't curled on her side with her hands curved and tucked under her chin. Her crazy curly hair splayed out around her head on the gurney, he didn't think of her cranial cap being removed.

"Oh, Honey," he said softly and reached to touch her forehead. So gently he ran his hand over her cool, hard, greying skin, brushing hair from her face as he always did. "Gleason, I am so sorry this happened. Honey, I am so sorry." Bobby talked softly, tears streaming from his eyes.

"This isn't the way our life together is supposed to be. We are supposed to be a family. Honey, you are pregnant, didn't I say I thought you were? We are supposed to be a family with children; we almost had two." He had to wait a moment and then pulled his handkerchief and wiped his eyes and nose. Then, he carefully reached under the sheet for her hand; he did not want to move the sheet as he did not want to see the autopsy incisions. Her hand felt like clay, cold and hard. Nevertheless, he held it and ran his thumb over the back, the way he does.

"Glea, you know what you always say, 'I'll love you forever'? Well, Sweetheart, it is true, I'll love you forever and ever. You'll always be with me, Honey, forever." Again, he had to pause, he drank in her face, wanting to imprint it in his mind, sear her beauty in his memory forever.

"Oh, God, Gleason, I love you so much." He hitched sobs, "My whole life I was alone, even in a house with three other people, I was alone. And then, then there you were. Remember, Honey, in the conference room that day? Jesus, you were perfect. I knew right then, I knew you were the one, my one and only." He cried and set her hand back on the gurney, returning to stroke her forehead, run the back of his fingers down her cheek.

"We survived so much, so much; when you were shot, and then the miscarriage, and then your heart. So much, but we survived. We were supposed to survive. You weren't supposed to die yet. We were to have children, Gleason. You would have been a good mother, you would have; and I would have been a good father. Our children would have been happy and good."

His hand gently touched her hair; he knew Rodgers had stitched down the cranial cap, and Gleason's wild, red mane hid any evidence. Bobby gently ran his hand over her head, pushing the hair from her neck.

For nearly forty minutes, Bobby stood and stared, talked and cried. He argued with himself, knowing it was time to leave her, but not wanting to. Not ever wanting to. Finally, he sobbed aloud and then brushed his lips over her forehead. He wiped his face and walked back into the hall. He stood, pulling himself together and heard Matt come down stairs he hadn't noticed earlier.

Matt offered Bobby a cold bottle of water that he took gratefully and drank. Neither said anything, Matt waiting for the tall man to begin. "Thank you," he whispered.

Matt nodded silently and then said, "Do you want to sit down for a while?"

"Uh, no, thanks." Bobby stared at the floor and shuffled. "Thank you so much for letting me see her, talk with her."

Again, Matt nodded.

"Can I … is it possible … uh, I want to have a lock of her hair." At this, Bobby looked at the slim man.

"Certainly, Mr. Goren, I can arrange that. Do you want a lock or more?"

Bobby thought a moment, "A nice, long lock, that's all."

"Of course."

The two stood quietly, Bobby took another drink, draining the water bottle and then he said, "When … when …?"

"The package and box will be ready in two or three days. I'll give you a call. What else can I do for you, Mr. Goren?"

"Nothing. This, this was, I needed to see her again. I needed to talk with her. Thank you. Thank you."

Matt McFarland smiled sadly and nodded, took the empty bottle from Bobby and the two shook hands. Without another word, they headed back to the door and Bobby left.

He sat in his vehicle and blew his nose, wiped his eyes and felt another layer of weight lift. He said everything he needed to say to her. And, he knew, he knew she heard him. He knew she would always love him. He would always love her. Forever. Until they were together again.

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Early Thursday Evening

"Bobby asked me to stop by on my way home. I'm going to pick up some Chinese, maybe he'll eat again. I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah. Thanks for looking after him. Call me if you need me." They nodded to each other and Eames headed out.

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Exhaustion overwhelmed him as he walked to the car. All he wanted to do was to go home and lie down; his neck was stiff from tension and his head ached from crying. Bobby knew his fatigue was his body's way of telling him to stop, just stop. His understanding of human emotional reaction provided a clear insight into his current state of being. And, he knew the worst of his pain was ahead of him.

He drove home, had to park a block and a half away and walked slowly to his building; he didn't even pick up his mail or the three newspapers stuffed into the paper box. Bobby pulled himself up the steps and into his apartment. He shut the door and turned the bolt, but didn't set the flip bar.

He took four aspirin, went to the bathroom and then to the bedroom, shutting the door. It was hard to look at the bed where she would never rest again, never make love again. He kicked off his shoes, took off his sweater, dropped onto the bed and rolled toward her side. Bobby reached his arm as he would had she been there and felt tears coming; but, before they fell, he was asleep.

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Eames stopped at Pan's and got every one of Bobby's favourites and two extra spring rolls; but said no to the fortune cookies, trading them for extra chopsticks. She carried the two laden bags to her sedan and headed to Bobby's apartment.

Fifteen blocks from his place, Eames was trapped in a traffic jam. Shit! She could see neither in front of nor behind her as the traffic was so dense. What should have been a forty minute drive had become an hour, and she still had a ways to go. The side streets were also blocked as everyone ahead of her tried to go around whatever was causing the hold-up.

The aroma from the food made her mouth water and she was starving having worked through lunch. Should I call him, she wondered; no, he knows I'm coming. Creep by creep, she inched up the block. She couldn't resist any longer and dug into the bag, searching for a spring roll. Into the bag she went again, looking for a packet of sweet and sour sauce, ripping it with her teeth. The roll was still warm and so crispy. She dabbed on dots of sauce and promptly dribbled it onto her jacket. Son-of-a …, she grumbled, wiping at the stickiness with a paper napkin, making it worse. She gobbled the spring roll and was thirsty – of course having nothing to drink. Nearly twenty minutes later, the traffic began to move.

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He walked along the path, picking up pieces of Gleason's clothing. Where is she, he wondered, and why are her clothes on the path? Suddenly he realised that she was in danger – she was naked somewhere and cold. Bobby began to run up the hill, but the hill kept getting longer and higher.

"Gleason!" he called. "Honey? Where are you?" He had to stop and catch his breath. "Gleason! Glea-?"

In his sleep, Bobby moaned and pulled at Gleason's pillow. Goosebumps sprang up on his biceps and forearms, below his undershirt. He began to draw deep breaths and he groaned again. Still asleep, he dragged her green throw over his arms and snuggled her pillow tight against him.

Finally, he sighed deeply and settled. He would not recall this dream.

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Thursday Evening

Eames lucked out and got a spot just up the block from his building and let herself into the lobby, lugging the bags of food up the steps and down the hall. She tried the door – locked. She knocked and waited, hoping that he was home as she didn't see his car anywhere; and, that he hadn't set the flip bar. She knocked again then used her key, tensing as she turned the knob and pushed. It opened.

The apartment was dark. Eames set the bags on the kitchen table, flipped on the light over the sink and called his name softly, hearing only silence. Quietly, she walked down the hall and called again, barely above a whisper. The bedroom door was shut, he's sleeping, she thought; but she had to make sure he was sleeping and nothing else.

Eames carefully opened the door and made out his prone form in the dim light; hearing the deep, slow breathing of his sleep and her heart filled, all the feelings from before flooding back. She wanted to cross to him, touch him, hold him. Eames made herself back out and return to the kitchen, pulling shut the door.

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"Hi," he said simply, running his hand over his curls.

Eames turned from the microwave and smiled at him, "Hi, sleepy head. Did you rest well?"

He just nodded and crossed to his chair. "How did you get in?"

"Your super gave me a key. I brought us Chinese, everything you like. What do you want to drink?"

"Ted gave you a key?" Eames nodded and he continued, "There's a beer in the fridge, I think. Help yourself to anything."

She got him a bottle and searched for the opener, pulling open drawers. "Here, it's in here," he said, reaching behind him, finding it, and removing the cap.

"Do you want a glass?"

He shook his head and took a long, long draught on the beer. Eames watched him and worried that he would start drinking tonight. The microwave dinged and they ate.

After a few minutes of silence, Bobby said, "How come you only got five spring rolls?"

Eames blushed and said, "Well, I bought six and now there are five."

He glanced at her, "You ate one on the way over?" She didn't miss the whiff of incredulity in his voice.

"Yes, I got stuck in traffic and was starving and ate one."

"So that's sweet and sour sauce mixed with paper napkin on your jacket?"

Eames shook her head and had to smile, "You do not miss a thing, do you?"

He swallowed and replied, "Not usually."

Eames' heart took flight.

They finished and Eames started putting away the leftovers and setting dishes in the sink.

"Just leave that stuff. I'll get it later," he lied.

"It won't take a minute. Should I make some coffee?"

"Huh uh," he said standing and retrieving the fresh bottle of scotch from the counter, pausing at the cabinet, reaching for a glass, "You want a drink?"

She looked at him, hesitated and then said softly, "Bobby. . ."

His eyes slammed shut and he put up the fingers of both hands not holding the bottle and glass, "Do not start with me, Eames. I'm going to drink if I want to drink. Understand?"

She heard, and felt, the edge in his voice. She turned her back to him and filled the coffee pot, he will need this later, she thought.

Bobby took the bottle and glass and sat in his chair in the living room. He opened the bottle, poured himself one, drained it, poured another and drained half. He listened to Eames work in the kitchen and closed his eyes, imagining Gleason. He was on his third drink when Eames came and sat on the sofa. She reached up and turned on the end table lamp.

"Why did you want me to come over after work? To feed you?" She couldn't hide the hurt and disappointment.

He rolled his head toward her, finished his drink and said, "No. I thought it would be nice. I'll pay you for the dinner." He looked away and picked up the bottle.

She stared at him and shook her head. She loved him and hated him right now. "Well, your belly is full, your kitchen is clean and you have everything you need in that bottle. I'm wasting my time here." She stood.

"Don't go. Alex, don't. I, I need your help. You said you would help me." Suddenly he was contrite and she heard the fear in his voice; he still held the bottle.

"Then give me that goddamn bottle."

He did not want to do that, not one bit; it was good when he was drunk, he didn't think and didn't feel. "Alex. . ."

She took a step toward the door and he said, "Ok, ok, here, take it," holding out the bottle. "Alex, you have to help me. I've got no one else." He stood and walked to the kitchen, twisting on the cap and setting it on the counter.

Eames followed him, stepped around him and picked up the bottle, twisting off the cap.

"What are you – oh, Alex, don't. . ." and he watched her pour all that good scotch down the drain. "Goddamn it," he said with resignation, turning back to the living room.

She poured them each a cup of coffee and took them into the living room. "Here," she said, handing him a cup. She crossed to the sofa and sat with her left leg folded under her, sipping the coffee. "Tell me what you want me to do."

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	32. Chapter 32

Intentional End

Chapter 32

Mid Morning Friday

October 19

Deakins stepped from his office and called, "Logan, Falacci. My office." Mike Logan and his new partner Nola Falacci walked over.

"The oh-seven called. A government agent was a hit and run yesterday and they're handing it over. You're it. Go find out what you can. Lockworth and Jymosowicz have it over there."

Logan nodded, took a step and then turned back, "Uh, Captain?"

Deakins turned and waited.

"Uh, Goren, it's too bad about his wife. How is he?"

The Captain offered the same generic response he gave everyone, "He's in shock."

"What happened?"

"It appears to be carbon monoxide poisoning." Logan waned to ask if it was an accident of if Goren's wife had suicided, but didn't. The trio stood silently, then Deakins said, "Go, work this agent case." And they separated, Deakins closing his office door.

The two walked silently to the elevators, stopping to get coats along the way; then Falacci said, "This Goren fellow, I haven't met him yet, but I've heard about him. He's some kind of freak genius or something?"

"Yeah, or something. He is different, I'll say that. But the man can solve like none other." They stood at the elevator, waiting. "You know, his mother just died a few weeks ago."

Falacci nodded and said, "Yeah, I heard."

"Goren's wife – she was one beautiful woman, a professor, too. Smart, like him. She kind of steadied him. He seemed kind of, I don't know, less weird or more normal after she came into his life."

The elevator opened and Falacci pressed the button for the underground parking deck. "I wonder what he'll be like now."

Logan snorted a laugh, "Hell, something like this, it would set anyone back a mile and a half. Poor guy."

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"Logan, Falacci from Major Case," Logan said, pointing to himself and his partner. "You have a case you're handing us?"

"Yes, have a seat," Lockworth indicated to the pair. "Agent Phil Wycoff, he's a fed and you do feds, so he's yours."

Logan looked at the woman and fought not to make a smart-ass remark. "Ok. So, what can you tell us?" He threw a barely perceptible sardonic glance at Falacci.

Lockworth caught it and copped an attitude, it didn't take much to set her up, "You want this or not? 'Cause we can take it, the feds are no problem. This looks like a simple hit and run. You interested or not?"

Jymosowicz looked away and reddened a bit, slightly shaking her head.

"Whoa, whoa, cool down. No need for animosity here." Logan tried to appease the detective but she was buying none of it. Of course, his demeanour was less than sincere.

Lockworth was ready to start in on him when Falacci interrupted, "Look, what have you got for us? This is a hit and run? An accident? Why are we even involved?"

Lockworth dragged her eyes from Logan's face and looked at his partner, "We called the feds and they don't want him, said he resigned or something. They surrendered jurisdiction; said the NYPD can handle it."

"Since when does the Federal Government hand one of theirs to the locals? What this guy do, piss off some one big time?" Logan asked and had no idea how close to right he was.

"Here's the file on it – statements from the witnesses, not much there; and statements from the responding officers, again, not much there. The crime scene photos will be sent to your attention electronically," Jymosowicz looked at her watch and continued, "in fact, they should be in your delivery queue right now."

"What about the body and vehicle?" Falacci asked.

"The body is going to your ME, should be on its way now. And both vehicles are being towed to your forensic garage."

"Wait, _both_ vehicles? You found the car that hit him?" Logan was impressed.

"Yeah, it was right around the corner, in the middle of the street with the engine running and a crushed front passenger corner. Seems the driver had a get-away vehicle waiting around the corner. After the hit, he kept going, made the corner on two wheels, stopped, left the car running, and – apparently – jumped into the waiting car and disappeared into traffic."

"What makes you think he had a car waiting? Why not just abandon the vehicle and disappear into the crowd?"

"Because, one, there was no crowd for him to disappear into; two, a witness saw him get into the waiting vehicle; and, three, we assess thoroughly." Lockworth had her ire up again.

Falacci interjected before Logan could slap the touchy detective, "So, this wasn't a random accident?"

"Doesn't look like it, which is another reason you guys were called in."

"Any other evidence with the body or car?"

"Yeah, a duffle bag in the trunk and the guy's computer and briefcase. Looks like he just checked out of the weekly hotel he was parked in front of. We interviewed the woman at the desk; her statement is in there, too. The computer, duffle and briefcase are on their way to evidence at your place."

"Well, this looks pretty clean and narrow," Logan said.

"Maybe yes, maybe no," Falacci responded.

The foursome stood and Jymosowicz handed the thick brown envelope to Logan. "Thanks for taking this off our hands. Let us know if you need anything."

"Sure, we'll give you a call."

"Thanks," Falacci offered. The pair turned and walked to the elevators.

"What a tight-ass that Lock-whatever is. Got something to prove, you think?" Logan half whispered.

"Well, you two were like kids on a playground, taunting each other."

They stood at the elevator and Logan looked at his new partner with mock hurt, hand on his chest, "'Taunting' each other'? Did you hear her? I was nothing but professional and forthright. _She_ taunted me. I remained the consummate professional."

"Yeah, yeah," she answered and they stepped through the opening doors.

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Eames stopped into Deakins' office and said, "I talked with Bobby last night."

He looked up at this, "Yeah? Have a seat, close the door."

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Logan and Falacci stopped in the forensic garage next to the underground parking deck. Michael saw them and walked over. "Mike."

"Mike," Logan replied – it was a stupid game they liked to play. "Hey, I want you to meet my new partner, Nola Falacci. Mike Anderson."

Mike nodded and shook the detective's hand and said to her, "You do realise, don't you, that you are his third partner in three years – all women no less."

She smiled and said, "Some men are just left in the dust."

Logan smirked and shook his head.

"What can I do for you two?"

"The oh-seven sent over two vehicles involved in a hit and run. You get to them yet?" Logan asked.

"Yeah, over here." He led them between cars, continuing, "Let me tell you, the hit car, this blue sedan, here, cleanest car I've ever looked at."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing – no prints, no fibres, no hair, no trace, nothing. This vehicle was clean prior to the hit, and the perp left nothing behind. Now, who does something like that?"

"The government," Falacci answered.

Both men looked at her and Logan spoke first, "You think the feds took out one of their own in a hit and run?" He tried, but failed, to hide his scepticism.

"Sure. It happens all the time. Look at Vince Foster early in Clinton's first term. Goes up on the hill and shoots himself – a suicide, right? Bullshit, Hillary had him taken out because he couldn't hold up under the pressure of Washington politics and society and she was afraid he'd break and blab about their affair back in Arkansas."

Again, both men stared at her, and again, Logan spoke first, his eyebrows going north, "Ok then. So-o-o, what about the victim's vehicle?"

Mike led the pair to the next car, "Nothing special. The guy was a slob, his prints are over everything and, he left DNA." Mike shuddered dramatically.

Logan looked at him, again with raised eyebrows, "You mean . . . he jacked off in his car? Jesus."

"No, not jacked off necessarily, but he had sex with someone in there."

Falacci rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Ok, so, we got paint and such to tie the vehicles as a pair?" Logan asked, changing the subject.

"Yep, the paperwork is already started. Actually, this was a fairly easy job. You catch the perp?"

Falacci replied, "No, looks like he left the car for a waiting get-away vehicle. He's long gone. And, if he's a fed, we'll never catch him." She looked at the two men staring at her. "What? Why do you look at me like I have two heads? Good grief. Are we done here?"

Mike and Logan looked at each other and smiled. "Hey, thanks Mike. You always do good work."

"Right back atcha, Mike."

Falacci and Logan headed for Evidence.

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"How was he?" Deakins asked.

"He was asleep when I got there. He ate and seemed ok. Then, after dinner, he got the bottle of scotch and started drinking, hard and fast."

"Jesus Christ," Deakins said softly, sadly. "How did it end?"

"I told him I wasn't going to help him if he kept on drinking."

"What'd he say?"

"He apologised and begged for help proving she was murdered. I took the bottle and poured it in the sink."

"I'm impressed. How'd he take that?"

"He wasn't happy, but we drank coffee and talked." Deakins listened. "He told me he thinks the government killed Gleason because she knew too much about the work she was doing."

"Does he have a plan?"

"He said he wants to go back to her apartment. He thinks her heater was tampered with and the battery in the detector was replaced with a dead one."

"When is he going?"

Eames looked down at this and said softly, "He wants to wait for Gleason's ashes before he goes."

They shared a look and Deakins nodded, nothing else needed to be said about it. "What else did he say?" he asked.

"Bobby wants you to call your friend in the Evanston PD and ask that her apartment be sealed. He wanted to know if your friend could have CSU go over it."

Deakins rubbed his forehead at this, Bobby was asking a lot. Eames anticipated this reaction as she had thought the same thing. "He knows it is asking a lot; he knows there is no probable cause to do so since it was ruled accidental."

"Eames. . ." Jack Emerson had already done so much for Bobby. Deakins couldn't ask his friend for any more, it would be asking too much.

"He said he didn't think you would do it."

"Alex, it's not that I wouldn't, I, I can't." He stood up at this and crossed his arms, "Jack Emerson went out of his way to accommodate us. I cannot ask him to draw manpower and resources for a hunch." He looked at her and his eyes pleaded for understanding.

She nodded and looked at her lap. The pair was quiet a moment. Deakins returned to his desk and sat, "Does he have a Plan B?"

"Yeah, he's going to call the property manager and ask her to leave the apartment like it was and keep the place locked up until he can get up there. He's worried that it's already been cleaned."

Again, they sat quietly and Eames broke it with, "I called Sledge."

Deakins looked surprised. "Oh?"

"He's FBI now, maybe he can help."

"I don't know how much, he's still a newbie; he's only been there a few weeks." Deakins thought a moment and said, "What did he say?"

"I left a message on his cell and haven't heard back yet."

"That's a good angle if he can help. Do you think he will?"

"I'm certain of it."

Once more, they were quiet and then Eames said, "He's, he's not going to have any services, not even an obituary for her. He's taking some of her ashes back to Scotland."

Deakins nodded slightly. "It doesn't surprise me about not having services, but no obit?"

"He's a private guy."

"Did he say when he's going to Scotland?"

"I asked him that and he said not right away."

They sat quietly for a moment, and then Eames stood and said, "He asked that I call him after I spoke with you. What do you want me to tell him?"

Deakins rubbed his hands over his face and said, "Tell him I'm sorry." He looked up at her standing at the door, "Make him understand, Alex."

She turned and left, disappointed in her boss.

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Logan and Falacci rode up to Trace.

"Have you been up here yet?" Logan asked as they exited the elevator.

"Yeah, several years ago," Falacci replied.

"And. . ."

"And, it's none of your business."

"Ouch, sorry," Logan replied, stinging and wondering anew about his new partner. Secrets, huh?

They continued down the hall to the main counter, signed in and Logan asked about the computer, duffle and briefcase found in Wycoff's car.

"They were sent to Evidence. The oh-seven sent them up here by mistake. Sorry," the clerk told them.

Logan shook his head and the pair turned around.

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Noon Friday

Bobby woke slowly. After Eames left the preceding evening, he sat in his chair and thought about her murder – that was how he saw it in his mind – not an accident, but murder. He desperately wanted a drink and hated Eames for pouring out the rest of the scotch; goddamn her, he thought. But, he knew he needed a clear head to puzzle through and prove that the Federal Government had murdered his wife.

In his mind, Bobby treated her murder like any other case. He opened his mind and let his neurons drift over bits he didn't even know he knew. Slowly, he conjured a plan and after two hours of sitting and thinking, he went to bed.

Now, he rolled from his right side onto his back, ran his arm over where she had slept, and sighed when he realised she wasn't there. He lay looking at the ceiling and thought, one more day without her.

He was heading for the bathroom when the phone rang, "Goren."

"It's me."

"Did you talk with Deakins?"

"Yeah, just now."

He knew by her reticence that Deakins wasn't going to help. "He's not going to call Jack Emerson, is he?"

Eames had to wait a few heartbeats before confirming, but she didn't get a chance.

"That son of a _bitch_," Bobby growled, "he said he would help me." Bobby's rage was red hot. "Ok, thanks."

"Bob-," but he had clicked off. Eames wanted to call him back and explain, but she knew he wouldn't pick up. She looked over at the boss through the glass walls of his office and thought, Bobby's going to come in and get in Deakins' face. A part of her wanted to warn Deakins, but she chose not to.

Bobby threw the phone onto the bed and stormed into the bathroom. After his shower, he dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt, pulled on socks and shoes, got his jacket and keys and locked the door behind him. That goddamn, son of a bitch, he thought. Well, fuck him, lying bastard. Bobby's anger increased on his way to OPP.

Logan and Falacci took the elevator to Evidence.

"We need the computer, duffle and briefcase that came down from Trace," Logan said to the evidence officer. The fellow nodded and went to retrieve the items. He returned in a few minutes carrying a large, white plastic bin with 'Evidence' written on the four sides. He plunked it on the countertop and slid over the sign-out sheet and pen, both attached to a clipboard.

Logan nodded and grabbed the bin as Falacci signed. Then they headed back to the elevators and the eleventh floor.

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Bobby's hands clenched and unclenched as he waited for the elevator in the parking deck. Finally, the doors opened and he stepped aside for three people to exit. He entered and pushed the button for the eleventh floor then retreated to the far corner. It seemed to take forever to climb as the car stopped on nearly every floor. He kept his eyes downcast as he did not want to see or speak to anyone.

The doors opened on the eighth floor, people exited and Logan and Falacci entered.

"Hey, Goren," Logan said softly, putting a hand on Bobby's arm.

Bobby tried not to pull away and glanced at Logan in that sidelong way he does and nodded silently.

"Look man –," Logan started.

But Bobby cut him off with a step back and both hands up in front of his chest, palms out. "Don't, not now. Please," he said softly, looking at the floor.

Logan nodded and turned to face the elevator car doors. Falacci glanced up at her partner and did the same.

Finally the car stopped on eleven, the doors opened and the three of them exited, Bobby striding around and ahead of his colleagues.

"I see what you mean by him being a freaky genius or something," Falacci uttered.

"Hey, give the man a break, he just lost his wife for God's sake," Logan answered.

The pair watched Bobby march straight for Deakins' office.

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	33. Chapter 33

Intentional End

Chapter 33

Noon Friday

October 19

"What a terrible, terrible thing to happen to anyone; but to Detective Goren . . .," Carver said to Deakins; he had just heard about Gleason's death.

"Yeah, he's pretty messed up."

"Carbon monoxide, huh? I guess when it's your time, it's your time."

The men stood quietly and then Carver and Deakins began to go over the list of items and documents that he needed for the next phase of proceedings against the dead pilot's wife. They were both looking at the sheet of paper and didn't see Bobby cross the bull pen.

Eames stood at the printer and saw Bobby make a bee-line across the squad room. She left whatever she was waiting for and headed for him calling, "Bobby! Wait!"

He pushed open the door with such force it slammed into the wall behind it; Deakins and Carver both jumped. "Detective –?" Carver said with surprise. Eames stood in the doorway, a hand on each jamb.

"You lied to me, you son of a bitch! You told me you would help me prove that she was murdered." Bobby's voice and left arm were up with his finger pointing right at Deakins' face. Carver had backed away as Goren nearly ploughed over him getting to Deakins. The captain stood his ground.

"Bobby," Eames said from the door. He ignored her and glared at Deakins, waiting for a response, breathing hard.

Calmly Deakins said to Carver, not taking his eyes off of Bobby, "Would you give us a minute, Ron?"

Ron Carver was happy to oblige and walked to the door. "Alex, you, too," Deakins added. The tiny detective and the assistant district attorney looked back and then left, pulling shut the door.

"Bobby, sit down and let me explain," Deakins reasoned.

"You said you would help me. Why not now? Did they get to you again? My wife was murdered and you said you would help me. Goddamn it; help me, help me prove it. Why won't you? You could have helped me keep her alive! You fucking bastard." He said this deeply, darkly, and then he began to cry.

Deakins let him go on, Bobby needed to vent and Deakins was the one to catch it. He knew his detective's anger was part of the emotional terrain Bobby had to traverse. Deakins took to heart everything Bobby spat at him and felt like shit. He _ha__d_ promised to help Bobby, but he had done so in the wake of relief following his belief that his family was safe. After thinking it through, Deakins realised there was little he could do.

"Bobby, I'm sorry. Please understand." Deakins moved from the front of his desk to behind it and bent to write something on a slip of paper; but didn't stop talking, "I cannot help you; this department cannot help you. I cannot ask Jack Emerson to help you. You have to let this go. Let her go."

Deakins came back around the desk and handed Bobby the slip of paper. They stared at each other, each waiting. Bobby unfolded the slip, read it and his demeanour changed completely. He looked back at his boss with a questioning look.

"Do we understand each other?" Deakins asked. Bobby looked from his boss to the paper and back, then folded the paper and slipped it into his inside breast pocket.

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"Ok, let's see what we have here," Logan said, unzipping the duffle while Falacci clicked open the brief case; they worked in a task room where they could spread out. Item by item, the partners examined and catalogued the contents of both. Thirty minutes later, everything was inspected and logged.

"Let's check out his computer, electronic organiser and the DVD," Falacci suggested.

"I'll do the DVD," Logan said with a deviant leer. His partner shook her head, handed him the case, and started for her desk with the organiser.

Tapes were watched in the glass-walled View Room containing an assortment of high-tech equipment and large, plasma monitors with screens big enough for anyone passing by to watch.

Logan stood and tapped the plastic case against the knuckle of his left thumb, hesitating. Occasionally, a little voice spoke to Logan, steering him one way or another. In the past, he always regretted when he chose to ignore that voice. Right now, that little voice shouted to him as he stood in the task room, _Watch it on the computer at your desk_, the voice said. Logan decided to listen this time and headed for his desk.

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Eames and Carver stood by her desk talking. "Your partner is convinced his wife was murdered?" he asked her.

She nodded and proceeded to tell Carver the details of the past weeks. Midway through their conversation, her cell rang. She checked it and said, "Excuse me, Mr. Carver, I need to take this."

"Certainly," and he strolled away.

Eames' heart raced, she flipped open her phone and said, "Eames."

"Hon, you called?" She shut her eyes and could not believe how fast her heart pounded. "Hon?"

"Edward, thank, thanks for getting back to me."

"Are you ok?"

"Yes, yes. How are you? How is it going?"

Edward heard more in her voice than chit-chat.

"Alex, what's wrong?"

She needed to calm herself before she spoke, for several reasons, "Gleason is dead."

"What?! Jesus, what happened?"

"Uh, that's why I called you. Bobby needs your help."

"Alex, I'm coming to New York late this evening. Can we meet tomorrow and you tell me everything?"

Again, her eyes shut and she could barely manage, "Yes." Her mind ran and then, without thinking, she said, "What time is your flight? I'll pick you up."

He didn't respond right away, considering everything this might mean, might cause, "That would be nice." He gave her his flight information and then said softly, "Hon, it will be good to see you again."

She didn't know what to say, "I'll, I'll see you tonight." They both clicked off.

Oh God, she thought, what am I doing? The rush of emotion at the sound of his voice shocked her. She was over him, she was; ok, she _thought_ she was. Eames glanced over at Deakins' office and saw him bent over his desk writing. Bobby's back faced her, but saw the fury in his posture.

God, he is big, she thought. Her mind ran back to the evening several weeks ago, right after his mother died, when Gleason was gone. He was drunk and had called her in the middle of the night and she went over. Eames recalled how he looked as he came down the hall wearing flannel sleep pants and nothing else. His body is magnificent, she thought. Stop it! she screamed to herself, he's a grieving widower and your former lover is coming into town, you need the one to help the other. She forced her mind back to her work and then stood to retrieve from the printer what she had been waiting for.

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Falacci started through the contact list on Wycoff's organiser and soon got a 'low battery' message. She shut it off and took the OPP directory, looking for Technical Forensics. She found the listing and headed to the elevators, organiser and computer in hand.

At the same time, Logan loaded the DVD into the drive on his computer, started it up and sat back. That little voice told him to use the ear phones and he did. A few seconds of grainy lead and soon he was listening to the sounds of sex, staring at fairly close-up, high definition footage of two people screwing on a bed. Holy shit, he thought, and lowered the screen a bit, glancing around, like a kid in high school watching porn on a computer in the school library. Jesus, look at that. He watched, transfixed, enjoying this aspect of his job and then the man on the screen finished in a big way and rolled off the woman, onto his back. And Logan sat up.

Holy Mother of God, he thought, is that . . .? Jesus Christ! And he slammed down the lid to his laptop and ripped off the ear phones, looking around to see if anyone saw. That's Goren and his wife! This is surveillance video shot in their bedroom, he said to himself – he could tell by the angle, the camera was up high; homemade love tapes were shot at a lower angle, from a tripod or night stand. Thank God I didn't put this on the big screen; and he thanked that little voice.

Now what, he wondered. He reopened his computer and the screen was dark; he ejected the disk and retuned it to its case then sat wondering what to do. He glanced back to Deakins' office and watched the captain bend to write something, Bobby stood by, still looking pissed. His first impulse was to destroy the disk, but knew he couldn't do that, it was evidence in an ongoing investigation. Man, what to do, he said to himself.

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"You just want me to power this thing up and print the contacts and calendar? That's it?" the tech said; he looked like he was twelve.

"Yes, please, I read paper easier than screen," Falacci answered smiling sweetly.

"Ok, give me about an hour, that ok?"

"An _hour_? Oh, come on, you young people are multi-taskers, you can pop that little machine into a dock and print off those two files in . . . I'll bet ten minutes. Where did you go to school?" Falacci smiled and pushed out her chest just a little. She was an expert in getting what she wanted from men, having learned early that you just play with their ego or balls.

The young kid looked at her and was suddenly shy, "I went to NYU, graduated third in my class."

"See, I knew you were clever. I'll bet you can print those off in eight minutes. Want me to time you?"

"How about I do it in six?"

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Deakins and Bobby stared at each other for a moment and then the captain said, "Now, go home. Get something to eat; you need to take care of yourself, Bobby." He came around his desk and put a hand on Bobby's bicep, "I'll talk with you this weekend. Go home."

Bobby was confused, and still angry, and suddenly exhausted again. He opened the door, stopped, looked back at his boss and left.

Carver watched the tall man cross from Deakins' office and wanted to extend his sympathies, but figured this wasn't the time. He glanced back at Deakins and saw the man put his face in his hands. The ADA decided to call Jimmy this afternoon, seemed he was having one hell of a day.

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Logan walked to the captain's office with disk in hand, "Uh, you got a minute, Captain?"

What now, Deakins wondered, "Yeah, sure, what?" dropping heavily into his chair.

Logan shut the door behind him and was suddenly embarrassed, actually reddening. Deakins saw Logan struggle and said with some exasperation, "Mike, what? What's that?" he nodded to the DVD in Logan's hand.

"Falacci and I are going through the FBI agent's duffle and brief case. She's going through the computer and organiser. This disk was among his things." He didn't know what to say next.

Deakins waited and then said with an edge, "Well, what's on it?"

"Oh, man. Captain –," Logan couldn't look at the other man.

"Look, Mike, this hasn't been the best week and this is turning out to be another really shitty day. Tell me what's on it. Hell, give it to me and I'll watch it later."

"No! No, believe me Captain, you do not want to watch this."

Now Deakins was intrigued, "Why not?"

"I only watched a few minutes – until I figured out who it was. And then I stopped." Logan stopped and struggled.

"Who's on the disk?"

Logan looked to the floor, "It's Goren making love to his wife, a segment of a surveillance tape," he said, barely above a whisper.

Deakins went white, then red. And then he stood, "Are you sure?" and came around his desk.

Logan nodded and then said, "Wycoff must have burned it from the original."

Deakins recalled Bobby barging into his office hollering that he'd found a bug in their bedroom. Great, Deakins said to himself, just what this guy needs on top of everything else. Well, I can save him from this embarrassment, he told himself. "Destroy it," he said flatly.

"Captain, this is logged evidence."

"Destroy it and replace it with a blank."

"That's, that's evidence tampering." Logan was somewhat shocked that his boss would even suggest such a thing.

"Here, give it to me," Deakins held out his hand and Logan watched as the boss opened the case, removed the disk and snapped it in two, and then again.

Logan didn't know what to think. "What about the log?" he asked.

"Go amend the disk as blank and I'll initial it." All Logan could do was nod. He turned and Deakins asked, "Do you think more copies were made?"

Logan stopped with his hand on the knob, "No, I think this was for his private use. Anderson in the garage said the guy was a slob and had had sex in his car recently. That kind of guy would only make one copy."

Deakins nodded and Logan left.

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Bobby sat inside his vehicle, still parked in the deck, and felt a hundred years old. He couldn't understand why Deakins would not call Jack Emerson. Emerson would send CSU to Gleason's apartment if he knew it was a murder. He reached inside his jacket and removed and unfolded the slip of paper the Captain had given him – a phone number, nothing more. Bobby wanted to call it, but cell phones don't work so well in the underground deck.

He recalled the mental list he had made last evening. He would call this number, then Gleason's apartment super, and then Jack Emerson. Bobby started up his vehicle and started for home; but first, he stopped by the liquor store.

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	34. Chapter 34

Intentional End

Chapter 34

Friday Afternoon

October 19

"Here you are," the young guy in Tech Forensics said to Falacci with a big smile, offering a folder. "How'd I do?"

Nola Falacci smiled broadly, checked her watch and said with feigned surprise, "You are really something, you know! Seven minutes! You did all that for me in seven minutes. No wonder you were third in your class. I'll tell you, the NYPD is lucky to have you."

The kid smiled and blushed. "Well, I'm lucky to be here."

Falacci took the folder with a smile and said, "Next time I need anything done with technology, you're my go-to." The kid turned red and looked down shyly. She continued with, "Now, about this computer . . ." and explained that it was an FBI machine and probably secured and she needed to be able to get to the files. So, would he be able to work his magic and get inside so she could look around?

"This is my favourite thing to do – go where no man is supposed to go," he answered, conspiratorially; and then he listened to what he said and, apparently in his mind, it became some bizarre, sexual innuendo and he went six shades red.

Falacci buried a laugh and said, "Thank you, young man. You'll call me when you do get inside, right?" The kid nodded without looking at her and she turned away, smiling. I do have a way with the fellas, she said to herself.

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Deakins slipped the pieces of the DVD into his suit coat pocket and felt sick to his stomach. In his entire career, he'd never done anything like this. Certainly, corners had been cut, shot cuts taken, portions of truth evaded or spun; but nothing like evidence tampering. Involving Logan bothered Deakins; in essence, Mike Logan was an accessory.

Jimmy Deakins felt twice his age and wondered how long he was going to be able to do this job. That decision might be made for him if word of this ever got out. He was confident that he could trust Logan; Mike is a good man, Deakins told himself, and he believed it.

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Falacci sat at her desk examining every name on Wycoff's contact list. The woman was rabid with this kind of thing – she would not stop until she found something, anything, to inspect. She believed that humans are stupid, weak creatures, sloppy in their endeavours. In her mind, everyone left a trail of detritus behind them as they walked through life, a line of evidence pointing right to them.

Everyone except the government, that is; _t__hose_ people are well trained and disciplined, which made them harder to catch. However, even in the government, there are those who just don't make the mark. Apparently, this Wycoff turned out to be one of those. Why else would they have taken him out?

"What did you put in here that will hang you?" she mumbled to herself. "You left something because you are a putz, a weakling. Where is it?"

She scoured his contacts, looking for anything and, indeed, she found something. "Ha! You stupid human; gottcha." Rather, she hoped she had him – may be something, it may be nothing. She ripped off the sheet of paper where she had made notes and looked up, searching for her partner and found him leaving the Task Room, heading for Deakins' office, in a hurry.

She stood and met him on the way out, "I think I found something."

"Yeah, let me get this to Deakins, I'll, uh, I'll be with you in a few minutes," he said and stepped around her.

"What was on the DVD?" she said, starting after him.

Logan turned and glared at her, "I said in a few minutes."

Falacci took a step back and looked through the door at Deakins and saw him speak to Logan. A man club, she thought with disdain and walked away.

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Bobby bought two bottles of scotch and headed home. He glanced at the clock on the dash and figured he would have his first drink in about seven hours. First he would call Gladys and ask her to leave the apartment like it was; IF she hadn't already cleaned it out. He had a feeling the super was going to keep Gleason's apartment like a shrine for as long as she could; he knew the woman was in love with his wife.

Luck was with him and he found a spot near his building. Once inside, he shut and locked the apartment door, walked into the kitchen, and stopped short. On the kitchen table sat what looked like a week's worth of mail and a large cardboard box – Gleason's things. Ted must have accepted delivery of the box and brought it up with the mail, Bobby reasoned. He set the scotch on the table, removed his coat and took the box into the bedroom setting it on the bed.

He shut the bedroom door and took his knife from his left front packet, snapped it open and sliced through the tape holding the top closed. He clicked shut the knife and returned it to his pocket, then opened the box. An envelope lay on top, addressed to him. He withdrew the letter and sat to read it.

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"You and I are the only two who know about this. You ever get questioned on this, you refer them to me. Understand?" Deakins told him.

Logan nodded and then mumbled, "Yeah, sure."

Deakins took a deep breath and then said softly, sadly, "Try to forget what you saw on the disk. Goren's had more than his share of pain. Let's just not think of it again, ok?"

"Absolutely, Captain."

"I'll take care of the disk before you return the evidence bin." Deakins rubbed his forehead and thought out loud, "Look, I'll take it from here. You don't need to be involved in anything more than this."

Logan nodded in appreciation and Deakins continued, "Go. Get back to work. This never happened." Again, Logan nodded, turned and left.

Jimmy Deakins was exhausted. I'm too old for this and too damn close to retirement to screw up now, he thought. No one needs to know I'm looking for a blank disk. If I ask the guys in Tech for a blank, they'll want to know why. He stretched out his arms in front, folded his hands and stretched, bent back his hands, snapping every knuckle. Let me check the cabinets in the View Room, one might be stashed in there, he told himself and headed that way.

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_"Dear Mr. Goren,_

_I cannot tell you how sorry I am about your lovely wife dying. She was__ a very special, beautiful woma__n__ and__. I am sorry I didn't have the chance to get to know her better._

_All of her things are in this box, just as you put them. I hope they bring you some comfort. _

_I'll give you a call in a few days to see what you want me to do with the rest of her things. The apartment is paid up through the rest of the semester, so you are free to take your time making up your mind about things. No rush._

_Mr. Goren, I know the battery in the CO detector was not bad. I changed it, and all the others, when __we went back to standard time. Unless __there was a bad one in the pack__ I don't know. I feel so guilty. And the heating valve__ is another thing__. I check all the heaters at the start of fall, before it starts getting cool. That valve was fine on September 15. I'll swear to it. _

_Again, I am sorry I couldn't save her. I don't know how this happened. I did everything I was supposed to do. Please forgive me. _

_Sincerely,_

_Gladys O'Fannon_

_Quartermaine House Su__perintendnet_

_---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

"So, what was on the DVD?" Falacci asked her partner from the open door. She had watched him walk from the Deakins' office back to the Task Room.

Logan jumped and stuttered, "Uh, nothing. Nothing, it's blank."

Falacci didn't believe him for a second. She stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. "Where is it?"

Logan looked at her with surprise and then tried to hide it. "Deakins' wants to check it." He felt sweaty.

She stared at him, reading his guilt and fear. "I don't know about this captain, but not one I've ever worked with checks evidence without the investigating detectives. What was on the disk that you and Deakins don't want anyone to know about?" She watched Logan shift. "Besides, why would a federal agent have a blank DVD in his briefcase?" She watched her partner squirm. "What was on the disk?"

Logan couldn't look at her so he looked inside the evidence bin, "I'm telling you, Falacci, the disk was blank. What did you find in his organiser?"

"It was sex, wasn't it?"

Logan's head snapped to face her. Falacci struggled to hide her smile, "Wycoff took the surveillance footage and burned a copy of Goren and his wife having sex." Logan looked at her in disbelief. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"Jesus, you are good," Logan offered with genuine admiration. "Uh, the Captain needs to know that you know."

"Let's go tell him."

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Eames wanted to tell Bobby that Sledge had called and would be in town. She glanced at the clock and decided to give him time to get home before she called. She ran her hands through her hair and looked at her watch, seven hours. Why did I say I'd pick up Edward, she wondered. You know why, you still love him, Eames told herself. No, no I don't. Yes you do, she argued, you never stopped loving him. But, Bobby, what about Bobby? Your feelings for him returned because Gleason is out of the picture and Edward went to DC and you're not sure about Peter.

She sighed heavily and went to fill her cup.

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Bobby read the letter twice. I was right, he told himself, the battery and heater had been tampered with. He reached for his cell and found her number.

"O'Fallon. How can I help you?"

"Gladys, Bobby Goren here."

"Oh, Mr. Goren, hi. Did the box arrive? I sent it the fastest way I could find."

"Yeah, yeah, thanks, it got here today. I, I just read your letter. Are you . . ." he needed to pause here, "are you saying this wasn't an accident?"

"This was no accident. I know these apartments inside and out. I do all of the inside work – all of it. And I keep meticulous records, everything is documented, work dates, times, description, product codes if needed. This was no accident."

Bobby's heart raced, son of a bitch, she _was_ murdered. He squeezed his eyes with his fingers, took a deep breath and then said, "Ah, that's good, that's good – all your documentation. Listen, have you done anything inside her apartment? Has anyone been inside?"

"No, no one. Not since you were here. After you left, I took the box and locked up her apartment, then took the box to my place. It's been closed up since then. You thinking of investigating or something?"

"Uh, I'm not sure about anything yet. Say, can you make sure no one gets inside her apartment? Not even you. Can you do that?"

"You bet. I'll put a lock box on it and only I'll have the code. You going to come up here and check it out?"

"Like I said, I'm not sure yet, I'll let you know. I'll probably need your help, is that ok?"

The apartment super hesitated and Bobby heard her swallow, "Mr. Goren, I, I will do anything to help you find out what happened to your wife. She, she didn't deserve this. You don't deserve this. You tell me what to do and I'll do it."

Bobby had never liked this woman, in fact she repulsed him; but right now, she was the only one willing to help him, and his gratitude overflowed his heart. The lump in his throat made it hard to speak, "Thank you Gladys, thank you. I'll, I'll call you in a few days."

The pair was quiet and then Gladys asked, "I know this is a stupid question, but, how are you? You doing ok?"

A few deep breaths and then, "I, I have to go. Thanks. I'll call you." He had to hang up before he lost it completely.

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"Ok, here's the deal," Deakins began, "I destroyed the disk and replaced it. We need to be straight on this. Chances are excellent nothing will come of this case."

The trio was silent a minute then Deakins said to Falacci, "So you understand the sensitive nature of this whole situation, right?"

"Of course, no question; you lie and I'll swear to it." Deakins nodded in what looked like relief and then Falacci said, "If he burned it using his laptop, chances are excellent there's a copy on his hard drive as well." She watched them tense up.

"Where's the laptop right now?" Deakins asked.

"I took it down to Tech. It's a government machine and will be locked up tight. I asked the kid down there to get past the security."

"Ok. Let him get inside and then bring it up here," Deakins told the pair.

The detectives nodded and left.

Will this week never end? Deakins wondered.

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Friday Night

Alex drove to JFK, parked in short term and sat with both hands on the wheel. What am I doing, she asked herself, this is such a mistake. Her mind was a swirl of emotion. Peter had called earlier and wanted to go to dinner, but she told him an old friend was coming into town and they were going to hang out all weekend; she said she would call him Monday.

Get through tonight, she told herself, and then Sledge will meet with Bobby tomorrow, if Sledge agrees to help. Get through tonight, right; what does that even mean, she wondered. The time on the dash told her to get going, his flight was due in fifteen minutes. Alex pulled down the driver-side visor, flipped up the lid over the mirror and checked her face but she couldn't make eye contact with herself.

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The first bottle of scotch was a third short at seven; Bobby had started drinking after his call to Gladys. Before he started drinking, however, he began to remove Gleason's things from the box her apartment super had sent; he didn't get very far. Her carpet bag sat on top; he removed it and sat on the edge of the bed, running his hand over the nubby surface. Tears filled his eyes when he held it open to his face and inhaled. He sobbed and then set it in the bottom of the closet where it had always been, continuing to the kitchen.

Now, he sat in his chair, in the dark, intending to finish the bottle. He drank steadily and purposefully, determined to drink until he died of alcohol poisoning. Even as he sat there, he knew this was not the worst of his pain and that frightened him.

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Standing with her hands in her coat pockets outside security, Eames looked at the people heading to baggage claim; Edward said he would meet her upstairs near ticketing as he would be travelling light. He saw her before she saw him and his heart quickened.

A smile lit his face as he watched her toss her head to get the hair from her eyes; hair like silken wheat, he thought. Then, she saw him. Their eyes locked and she stepped to meet him, suddenly hot, scared, nervous and excited. He pushed through the swinging gate and met her with his arms open and she fell into his embrace. With both hands on either side of her head, he kissed her long and deep. People grumbled as they stepped around the two, others smiled.

The kiss broke and he looked down at her said, "I have missed you so much, Hon."

Eames swallowed and said softly, "Come on, let's go."


	35. Chapter 35

Intentional End

Chapter 35

Early Saturday Morning

October 20

The sound of the shower woke him and Edward rolled onto his back, right arm over his eyes. What the hell are you doing, he asked himself.

The previous evening, Eames had driven from the airport straight to her place. They began undressing at the door and fell onto the bed clinging to each other. The sex was incredible, better than either of them remembered.

"You're awake," Eames said as she entered from the bathroom, tucking in the top edge of the towel into the length that wrapped her.

He rolled to his right and propped his head in his hand. "Hey."

She crossed and sat facing him. As they stared at each other, his left hand slid up under her towel and he began to harden.

"Edward, no," she stopped his hand.

"Why not," he asked softly.

She wanted to tell him that last night was a mistake, that they were finished, that Peter wanted her, and that she was in love with Bobby. "We used the last condom."

"Well, we could do it without needing one," he said, then waggled his tongue at her.

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What is that, he wondered with eyes like slits. Bobby opened his eyes wider and tried to focus – oh, the smoke alarm. He shifted his eyes right and left without moving his head and realised he was on his back in the hallway, up against the wall across from the bathroom. He had tripped, fallen and passed out on his way to bed last night – or was it the bathroom. . .

Someone had taken an axe to his head while he slept. This is nuts; I have to stop this, he told himself and tried to roll onto his side. The entire contents of his cranial bowl sloshed to the left and a light like the second coming of Christ blinded him, causing his stomach to heave so he froze. Oh God. He breathed deeply a few times; slowly, so slowly, he got to his knees without moving his head, then climbed the wall with his palms until he was upright. He had to pee like a race horse or he would have spent the entire day on his back in the hallway.

Finally on his feet, he stood at the toilet, relieved himself and waited for his stomach to do its thing. But, surprisingly, he did not vomit. Great, he thought dismally, my body is getting used to this. He made his way to the bed and sat with his head in his hands, wondering when he had taken off his undershirt and jeans.

After a few minutes, he sat up and looked for his cell – he wanted to call Gleason and see how she was. Bobby stood to go look for it in the living room when reality slammed him in the solar plexus; he stumbled back against the bed and sat down hard.

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"Jimmy?" Angie found her husband leaning on the kitchen sink, staring out the kitchen window. "Are you all right?" He wiped his face and turned. "Honey, what's wrong?" His wife crossed to him and took his arms. "Jimmy, what's wrong? Tell me."

"Ange," he hitched and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. He couldn't believe he had tampered with evidence. This whole series of events had taken him to this low, low place. "Angie . . . I'm, I'm really tired. That's all, Sweetheart, I'm tired."

Angie Deakins pulled back from his embrace and saw a man she had seen only once before – nearly two years ago when their daughter, Julie, had been raped. She knew something was eating at him and had been for the past two or three months. He had been unusually diligent in needing to know where she and the girls were at every moment. She knew something had happened to warrant this behaviour, but her husband would not talk about anything related to his work.

"Then come back to bed. Come and sleep," she told her husband, taking his hand and leading him to their room.

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"Do you want me to make breakfast?" Eames asked him through the shower door.

"Huh?" Sledge called in return.

"Do you want me to –," she hollered, the shower stopped and Edward opened the door and stepped out taking the towel she offered, "– make breakfast?" she concluded with a softer voice.

"Are you hungry?" Edward asked as he rubbed his head with the towel; Eames couldn't keep her eyes off his manhood.

"Edward, we need to talk about Bobby."

"Ok, let's go get something to eat and you tell me what's happened. Then we can go see him and find out how I might help. Why don't you call him while I dress?"

Eames nodded and went to ring Bobby.

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He fell back onto the bed and couldn't breathe. She's gone. She's gone. She's dead. Oh God. Gleason? Bobby dragged deep breaths and felt panic crawl through him. Oh God. Gleason! Bobby began to shake and issued a low mewl. Then he rolled onto his side and hugged himself, drawing his legs into his chest.

The prospect of living without her made him sick; he needed her alive so that he could live. Gleason had given him purpose, reason; she had steadied him, balanced him. His life, his real life, started when he met her; his life had finally had meaning. Even through their bad times, and there were many, she was the reason he did anything, everything.

His mewl escalated into a wail and he clawed for her pillows and clung to them, rocking. The wail became a guttural scream into her pillow and he cried uncontrollably. Bobby scooped her throw and drew it to him, squeezing it all, hugging fiercely as to a life force. The place in his chest where his heart had laid was now a raw, open, sucking wound. Mud flowed in his veins, his blood gone to soil.

This was it, the bottom. Every reason for his life was gone. He didn't want to live anymore.

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Falacci was waiting for someone in Tech to arrive. She had phoned down to see if Wycoff's lap top was open yet and got no answer. Damn! Of course, she was the first one in on her shift, everyone else was probably still in bed.

While she waited, Falacci looked at the printout of Wycoff's contacts from his organiser. Yesterday she had found something interesting – several notations identified with initials and some kind of alphabetic code. She had copied the initials and code and now sat examining them:

CMli culanth/f

GRyn dt/gw

WGliyn lng/rg

DJyn cpt/rg/f

MGli dn/cm/wg

. . . and, could make nothing of them. Did the upper case letters represent names? Why was the code broken into sections? What did the slants mean? Falacci sat with pen and pad and tried to decipher. She was deep in thought and jumped when the phone rang. "Falacci."

"Hey, Detective, this is Kyle."

"Who?"

"Kyle. You know, in Technical Forensics. I did that PDA for you yesterday and you left that FBI computer. Remember?" The hurt in his voice was clear as glass.

"Kyle! Yes, yes! My fantastic young techie geek mastermind! Of course I remember. You caught me deep in thought here. Sorry." She had to smile as she recalled how easy this kid had been to schmooze. "So, big boy, whattcha got for me this morning?"

His relief at being remembered was obvious, "Well, I stayed late last night working on getting inside this guy's computer. You were right, it was locked up tight; these government grade machines usually are. But – I got in! I tried a new configuration of system bypasses paralleled with a combination of binary –,"

"Oh, you know way too much for me to understand, Kylie, why don't I just come on down and pick it up?"

"Yeah, that would be great. Anytime is good for me. I'm here till six or so, even though it's Saturday. I'll wait for you."

"Thank you, my geek master, I'll be down shortly." They hung up and Falacci smiled and shook her head.

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"He doesn't answer," Eames told Edward with some alarm as he entered the kitchen.

"Of course not, he's probably passed out drunk. Let's get some breakfast, you tell me what's up and then we'll call him and head over. What say?" Edward took her in his arms and kissed her deeply. Eames reciprocated then turned her head away and pushed him back. "What?" he asked.

"Let's, let's just go get breakfast," and she moved toward the door.

Edward knew exactly how she felt. Last night, this whole being here, was a terrible mistake. Eames hadn't even asked why he had come to New York. Sledge guessed the real reason he came back didn't really matter now; he was still in love with her.

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Bobby lay on the bed, clutching what was left of his wife – her pillows and throw. He had stopped crying but continued to sob. God, his head pounded. He had to get drunk, royally pissed, out of his mind, drunk. He could no longer live without her.

Having made up his mind, Bobby made his way down the hall and retrieved the nearly empty bottle from beside his chair, the fresh one from the kitchen and a clean glass. He stopped and flipped the lock bar on the door, looked around the living room, saw her everywhere and returned to the bedroom, kicking shut the door behind him.

The fresh bottle and glass went onto the night stand and he stood and drained the other straight from the bottle. It burned all the way down and he nearly threw it up, but he clapped a hand over his mouth and squeezed shut his eyes, stepping with his left foot to keep from tilting over. At last he settled and he dropped the empty bottle where he stood.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he opened the new bottle, took a long draught as though it was a beer and slammed the bottle back onto the night stand. Jesus that burns! He grabbed the edge of the mattress with both hands and held on. Deep, deep breaths through his nose and out this mouth kept it down. Then, he poured a full glass.

You better get it ready before you can't, he told himself. Bobby reached down and pulled open the bottom night stand drawer, waited for the pounding in his head to ease, then removed the Glock 24 .380 and the 15 round cartridge he kept there.

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Edward set down his fork and shook his head when Eames finished telling him everything. "So what can I do?"

"Edward, you're inside the FBI now. We need you to find out about this Wycoff. Find out why Gleason was killed."

He sat back, wiped his mouth and said, "Hon, I've been there what, not even eight weeks. I'm probationary, in training. Alex, I'm still at Quantico. I have minimal security clearance; the farthest I can get inside is the men's room in the lobby. I can't get close to anything." God, he wanted to help her, help Goren, but he was powerless. They stared at each other.

Finally Eames said steadily, "You have to help me help him."

Sitting forward, taking her hands he said, "I can't do anything. Alex, I have no access. I'm sorry." She tried to pull away her hands but he held on. "Sweetheart, I want to help you. I want to help Goren. But I cannot do anything." She looked away and he saw her eyes fill and his heart filled as well and then broke.

"Why did you come to New York?" she hitched, still looking away.

Now he let go of her hands and sat back again, sighing deeply. He looked at her for a long moment, "I came for you," he lied.

On one level it was true, this morning it was true; last week, it had not been. He had come to New York to close up his apartment and ship the rest of his belongings to his new place in Georgetown.

He stared at her, saw her disappointment and resignation and loved her like he never knew he could. "Alex," reaching for her hands again, "Hon, I'll, I'll see what I can do."

Her eyes shot back to him and she leaned forward, gripping his hands, "Edward, thank you, thank you."

Sledge had no idea what he could possibly do, but he would do something; he would find some way to help Goren. "Ok, tell me what you want to find out."

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"Ok, my smart young man, tell me how I get into this thing."

Kyle Ambrose had heard about being with an older woman; they knew how to do stuff, good stuff and they weren't clingy and stupid like women his age. "Well, I fixed it so his original access has been maintained but I implanted a secondary, easier access for you to get in." She smells nice, Kyle thought.

"Show me how, big boy," Falacci said with a step back; she caught him taking a sniff.

"Why don't you come back here and I'll walk you through it. I've printed out the sequence for you. We can work at this table back here." Kyle wanted to sit next to her, feel her warmth. He also wanted to show her how smart and funny he could be.

Falacci looked at this boy and knew exactly what he was up to. "You printed the access procedure for me? You are really something. Tell you what, let me take this upstairs, try your directions and I'll give you a call if I have any trouble. Ok?" She smiled sweetly and hid a grin at his disappointment.

"Well, I could show you how right here. I may have missed something in the directions. It can be quite involved, you never know with these government machines."

"I am certain that a clever fellow like you has tracked down each of the walls. Now, if you would get me the power cord, I will be on my way. You are going to make me look so good to the Captain."

The young man sighed and turned, retrieving a power cord from the lot they had on hand. He handed it to her, felt her fingers brush his and his pecker snapped to life. "Uh, ok here you go. You, uh, you call me if you have any trouble. Here, let me give you my extension." He took a step, reached for a slip of paper, couldn't find a pen, had to turn and find one and Falacci saw the tent in his trousers.

Oh god, she thought. "You know what," she said, "I already know your extension, 4738, right?"

"Yeah," he replied with a smile.

"OK, thanks again. I'll call you if I need you." Nola Falacci turned, heading for the elevators with the laptop and power cord in hand. She couldn't turn away fast enough to prevent that young pup from seeing her face contorted in silent laughter.

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Bobby sat with the empty gun in his hand and the cartridge on the bed beside him. He drained the glass and thought, no one will help me. No one. She's dead and no one will help me find her killer. He refilled his glass, took a sip and felt the room tip. Good, he thought, damn straight.

He turned around and set his pillow upright against the headboard then sat back against it. The cartridge lay under his right leg. He shifted the Glock to his right hand and reached for her throw, pulling it awkwardly around his shoulders. Then, he pulled her pillows up close beside him and returned the gun to his left hand.

Draining the glass, he let it fall beside him on the bed; he'd refill it here in just a second. He had to close his eyes because the room began a slow spin that he knew would pick up speed in just a second. Bobby recognised this as the start of his unconsciousness, and knew he would black out here in just a second. No! Do not pass out, he shouted to himself. Do not pass out. You need to do this. She's gone, forever. Go to her, be with her.

Suddenly, for no reason, he recalled a dream he had had while Gleason had been abducted. It came back in bits – labour, Gleason was having trouble delivering their child. His mother, first across the room and then beside him; she told him something, what was it? Oh, yeah, 'they're going to die,' that's what she said, 'they're going to die,' his wife and their baby were going to die. How did Mom know that, he wondered. Of course, it was a dream. What else? She said something else, what. . .? Alone, that's it! She said I'm always gonna be alone. Fuck if she wasn't right. Crazy bitch.

He reached for the bottle, forgetting about his glass and drank.


	36. Chapter 36

Intentional End

Chapter 36

Mid- Morning Saturday

October 20

Angie looked up as her husband entered the kitchen heading for the coffee pot, "Hi, did you sleep?" She rose and crossed to him.

Jimmy Deakins poured himself a cup of coffee, stirred in a bit of sugar, turned to his wife, "Ange, I need to tell you what I did."

She looked up at him and put a hand on his upper arm, "What?"

He led her to the table and they sat. "I switched evidence."

"You what!" she could not believe she heard him correctly. Her husband of twenty-seven years was the consummate police officer. He would never, could never, do what he claimed.

"I had to. I did it to save Bobby from untold embarrassment."

"Bobby? What kind of embarrassment? Jimmy, tampering with evidence. . ."

"I know, I know. But, this is an open and shut case and I'm sure nothing will come of it. The evidence will never be used." He looked at his wife to see if she still loved him. "I just wanted, I needed to tell you."

Angie Deakins shared her husband's feelings toward Bobby and Gleason. Tending to Bobby following Gleason's death, going with him to claim her body, had taken an enormous toll on her husband; now this. She wanted to know what Bobby had done that her husband felt he had to protect the detective by jeopardising his career and pension, by compromising his ethics; but she knew not to ask.

"I'm going to see what difference it would make if I were to retire early." This surprised her. Jimmy loved his job; he was proud to be a police officer and honoured to be the MCS Captain.

"This job is costing me too much. I'm exhausted and cannot give this much anymore. It's not worth it." He looked at her, hoping, knowing she would understand.

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"Edward, he still doesn't answer."

"Hon, he's passed out. We're almost there," Edward replied as he drove to Bobby's apartment. Goren was drunk the last time Sledge had been to his place. God, it seemed years ago that Goren had called Eames from Nixon's when he was too drunk to drive. Sledge had been in Eames' bed that night, answered the phone and gone to get Goren. He had sobered up his colleague and then listened as Goren poured out his heart. Sledge sighed as he recalled how Goren loved that woman. He reached over and took Eames' hand, giving it a squeeze, beginning to think he knew how Goren had felt.

They rode silently for a bit and then Eames said, "We may have to sober him up, you know."

"I've done that before."

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With his head leaning against his pillow, he set the heavy gun on his bare belly and pulled up one of Gleason's pillows. He covered his face with it and breathed deeply, drinking in her scent, then letting loose with a heart-wrenching wail into it.

Bobby Goren was at his lowest; he could not live without her. He screamed into the pillow as he had earlier, rolling onto his side, his head splitting. Exhausted, eventually he settled, unable to see through his swollen, red eyes; unable to draw a deep breath with his constricted chest and congested nose.

Finally, Bobby hiked himself up against his pillow once more and held on as the room began to move again. After it slowed to a stop, he reached for the bottle, took a long swig and choked on it, spitting scotch over his chest and belly. He couldn't stop sobbing but took another swig and went to set the bottle on the night table, missed, caught it and set it down hard.

Then he remembered the clip under his right thigh, shifted his leg, found it and jammed it into the Glock's base and released the safety; then, he pulled back the slide.

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"Where have you been?" Falacci asked her partner as he finally showed at eleven-twenty.

Ignoring her, he sat scowling, rubbing his eyes. Last night had been hell for Mike Logan. He'd stopped at Nixon's and had more than a few. Nicky called him a cab and now his car was still at the bar. When he got home, the key would not open his apartment; he found out why when Sam Mrozak opened the door and ushered the detective down the hall to his own place.

Falacci looked at him, shook her head and said, "The kid downstairs got inside Wycoff's computer. Maybe you can take a stroll through the files. Look for that surveillance video first, though. Then, print off his calendar and any contact list you find in there."

Sledge half listened and tried not to roll his eyes.

"I found some interesting codes in the PDA contact list. Here, take a look at this." She stood and walked around to his desk.

"Wait, wait. Jesus, let me get some coffee, will you? I feel like shit."

Ten minutes later, Falacci showed Logan the list of initials and code. "What do you make of this?" she asked.

Logan studied it and then said, "I wish Goren was here, he loves this kind of thing. I don't know what it is. What are those, initials for names of people? Christ, this can be anything – a code for his favourite porn, hookers." Logan pulled out his chair and sat.

"Well, look around his computer. After you search for the video and print off the calendar and contacts, look for anything else. Make a list of where you looked; identify the folder and file names and include an abstract of what you find in each file and then an abstract of the folder. Search a complete folder before going to another."

Logan stared up at his new partner as though she had two heads. "What are you, the teacher? Give me a break, this isn't middle school." He reached for the lap top and cord but Falacci stopped him.

"Listen, Logan, we're going to do this by the book, understand? In case you have forgotten, we have three asses to cover – yours, mine and Deakins', not to mention Goren. I'm not going to get caught or hung out for shoddy paperwork. Now, do it my way or go home."

It was a crude reminder of what he had tried to drown last night, but she was right – they had to be careful not to draw attention to any aspect of this investigation. "Ok, you're right: slow and thorough; got it."

The pair settled into their work.

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Her anxiety climbed as they drove to Bobby's apartment. "Edward, something is wrong. He should have answered by now."

"Hon, I'm telling you, he is passed out drunk."

"No, he's not, he's done something to himself."

Sledge glanced at her and shook his head. "You feel responsible for him because you are his partner. Alex, he's fine. Goren is not the kind of person to hurt himself. Look, two more blocks and we're there."

She was crawling out of her skin knowing he had done something. Yes, Bobby was too smart to do anything stupid; but he hadn't been Bobby since Gleason had been taken by the government how many weeks ago. His anger and fear over her had been compounded by his mother's recent death. He didn't seem any better after Gleason had returned, in fact, everything seemed that much worse. Now Gleason was dead and Eames knew he was at the edge.

Drinking was her partner's response to angst, running from it straight down a bottle. Alex knew he drank only when he felt that his control over his life had been stripped away. He'd gotten drunk the fist time Gleason left him, when his mother died, when Gleason was abducted, and now that she was dead. And, he felt no one would help him prove she had been murdered.

"Drop me off here while you find a spot," she told Sledge as they drove up to Bobby's building.

"Hon, I'm going to park and go up with you."

"Goddamn it, Edward! Stop and let me out!" He immediately pulled to the curb; Eames jumped out and trotted back up the street.

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One more drink and he would pass out – he didn't want to do that, he wanted to do this. Bobby hefted the loaded Glock from his belly to just below his neck, resting it on his upper chest, the barrel pointed at the lamp on the night stand. God this thing is heavy, he thought.

The room would not stand still and he tilted to the left, leaning on Gleason's pillow. Sit up, he told himself, sit up straight and do this right. He hefted himself up and continued to the right, nearly falling off the bed. Shit-faced drunk, he slurred to himself, just like your goddamn drunken father. What a gem he was, passed his legacy to his boys – Frank got the gambling and I got the drinking. Thank you very much, my Pa Pa.

Bobby's mind wandered to what he and Gleason would have passed on to their children. Apparently, according to his late, crazy mother, their son got Gleason's eyes and a mix of their hair. He would be tall, like his mother and me, Bobby thought. And, and he would be smart like us, too. But would our kids get Mom's schizophrenia? It's a wonder neither Frank nor I have it. Thank you very much, my Ma Ma.

Bobby' head fell forward and he began to cry again, God how he had wanted that baby. Gleason finally admitted, after the miscarriage, that she had known she was pregnant. She wanted to be a mother, Bobby thought, she did, that's why she stopped taking her birth control pills and had gotten pregnant again. Another baby. I bet it was a girl, a pretty little girl. I bet. Christian would have been a good big brother to her, not like Frank was to me.

Do this, you asshole, do it. Everything good in your life is gone. Everything. Bobby raised his head and put the barrel under his chin.

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"Shit," Logan said softly.

Falacci looked up and asked, "What? You found a copy of the video?"

"Yeah."

Her mind ran, did that kid see it? "Mike, the kid in tech might have seen it after he got inside last night."

Logan looked at his partner darkly, "Will he talk?"

"I don't think he knows who Goren is."

"Yeah, but did this putz make a copy for himself?" Logan was beginning to sweat.

"Let me go find out. I'll be right back."

"I'm going with you. I want to scare the shit out of this kid." Logan stood, and seemed armed for bear.

"Wait, hold on. This kid likes me; I can get what we need to know without terrorising him. Besides, we don't even know if he saw it."

Logan considered this then said, "Fine you talk and I'll just be there."

The pair headed for the elevators.

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Lily fussed in her mother's arms as her brother asked, "What is Daddy doing?" The little boy was afraid as he held onto his mother's skirt, knowing something wasn't right.

The chubby, red-haired baby began to whimper and then cry. "Shush, My Girl, shush." Gleason patted their daughter's back to no avail, the child began to wail and thrash as though she, too, knew something bad was happening.

"Mommy? What is Daddy going to do?" Escalating fear was evident in his voice. "Mommy?"

"Tian," and she didn't know what else to say. Gleason stood with their children, watching a man she did not know. Don't do this, Bobby, don't do this. Please. It's not your time, Love. Stop, don't do this. She pleaded with him in her mind, heart and soul.

When his mother didn't continue, Christian looked up, saw her crying and his fear broke loose. "Mommy! Why are you crying?" the child looked back at his father sitting in his underwear on the bed with a gun pointing under his chin.

Gleason knelt down and pulled the child toward her, clutching their son and daughter to her chest. "Don't look, Tian, don't look at Daddy." The three cried together. Bobby, don't. Please, we'll never be together if you do this. Don't, don't. Please don't.

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Eames ran up the steps and down the hall and slid to a stop in front of Bobby's door, jamming the key into the lock and pushed the door. It didn't budge. Fuck! she shouted in her mind, he's set the flip bar.

"Bobby!" she shouted, pounding on the door. "Bobby, open the door!" Nothing. "Bobby, goddamn it, open this door!"

Ted Oelwein opened his door and crossed to Eames, "Detective, what's wrong?"

"I think he's done something. He's set the flip bar. Help me get in." Eames backed across the hall, preparing to kick it open.

"Wait, you'll break your leg," he said, putting a hand to her arm.

"Is he ok?" Sledge asked as he stepped into the hallway from the stairs.

"He's set the flip bar," Eames answered.

"Let's do this," Ted said to the other man and the pair backed across the hall. "On three, ready?"

"Yeah."

"Ok, one, two. . ."

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"Kyle? You back there?" Falacci called.

"Hey, Detective Falacci! Oh, hi," the young man said, coming from the back.

"Kyle, this is my partner, Detective Logan. This young man, Kyle, is a geek wizard," Falacci said, smiling at the young man. The men extended hands and shook briefly, Logan squeezing a wee bit harder than needed.

"What can I do for you?"

"I want to know –," Logan started.

Falacci cut him off with, "We were wondering if you found any video on the computer last night when you went snooping."

The young man's demeanour changed, "What makes you think I went snooping?"

"Because anyone would, given the chance," Logan answered.

"My partner is right. Come on, I would take a peek if I got inside a government computer. Wouldn't you, Mike?" Falacci was as disarming as Logan was menacing.

"Well, yeah, I looked around a bit."

"So, did you find any video?" Logan asked. The kid blushed, shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down. "You found something, something embarrassing, right?"

"Yeah, some homemade porn."

The detectives looked at each other and each took a step back.

"Porn? Well, was it any good?" Falacci asked conspiratorially.

Kyle's eyes shot up at her, "Yeah, it was actually. This guy was going down on this woman like I've never seen and –," he started, leaning against the counter, thinking these two shared his interest.

Logan slammed his hand down on the counter and the kid jumped back. "Listen you sick bastard, did you copy it?"

The detective's reaction startled Kyle; he figured there was something special about that footage and was sorry he'd copied it. This is the end of my career in police work, he told himself.

"Son of a bitch, he copied it," Logan said to Falacci, wiping his mouth and walking away.

"Kyle, did you make a copy?" she asked softly and the kid nodded. "Ok, I can understand why – good stuff like that. I'm afraid, though, we need to have the DVD you burned. See, it's evidence and we need to keep it secure. You understand, right?" She was sweet as ever with this jerk.

Kyle Ambrose went hot with panic and his hands went to his face. "Oh, man."

Logan stepped back to the counter, "Do not tell us you don't have it." The boy looked sick when his hands left his face. "Just great! Where is it?"

"Oh, man," was all Kyle could manage.

"Kyle, it's ok, you know where it is. Is it at home? We can drive you home to get it."

"No," he moaned, "it's not at home. I showed it to a buddy last night and he wanted to put it on this website he runs for this guy who does porn. He thought he could get us some money."

Both Falacci and Logan couldn't speak for a moment. Logan was going to come over the counter at this bastard, but Falacci spoke first, "Do you have _any_ idea of what you have done? Kyle, you stole evidence with the intent to distribute. Your ass is grass, kiddo. You are looking at time, heavy time. And you know what inmates do to police inside, don't you?"

"Oh fuck," the kid moaned.

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Bobby wiped his right arm across his eyes. What the fuck is that, he thought, hearing the pounding at the door. He glanced over to the foot of Gleason's side of the bed – it felt like someone was watching him. The gun was getting heavy, so he rested the grip on his chest, still pointing it under his chin, finger resting on the trigger.

He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was standing there looking at him. This is going to make one hell of a mess, he thought. Bobby Goren had seen plenty of gun-to-the-head suicides in his career so he knew exactly what he was going to leave behind. Poor Estella is going to have to wipe up. No, no she won't, he thought, the insurance will pay for a professional crime scene clean-up. Good, Estella has cleaned up enough of my shit.

His nose ran into his mouth and he wiped it with his hand. He kept looking at the foot of the bed. Fuck, he thought, do this.

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	37. Chapter 37

Intentional End

Chapter 37

Noon Saturday

October 20

The two men, big men, ran full tilt into the door and bounced off it. "Goddamn!" Sledge said, gripping his left shoulder, "What the fuck does he have on there?"

Ted Oelwein stood bent at the waist, hugging his left arm to his chest.

"You ok?" Sledge asked.

"Yeah, yeah. Shit!"

"Come on, get this door open! Bobby? Bobby!" Eames crossed to the door and continued to pound.

"Look, that flip bar is not going to let us in. Let me get something." Ted took off down the hall toward the steps, still holding his arm.

"BOBBY!" Eames screamed and began to cry as she pounded.

"Hon, Hon," Sledge stepped to her and tried to take her shoulders.

"Get off me!" she growled at him and jerked from his hands. "Bobby, open the door!"

Surprisingly, no one on the floor peeked out to see what was going on; of course several dwellers were at work. One of the eight apartments housed an elderly couple and in another lived a stay-at-home mom and her teenage daughter. Everyone seemed to stay inside their apartments since poor Mrs. Ziegler had been murdered a few days ago, in her apartment, on this floor, inside a secure building.

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Ted puffed up the steps bearing an enormous sledge hammer on a long, long handle. "Here, stand back," he told the other two as he stood and prepared to break down the door. He hefted the tool, wincing as the bruised muscles in his left arm complained, and swung with all his might, leaving a splintered dent. He hefted again and swung at the same spot. And again. Finally, the wood gave in and a hole punched through.

Sledge stepped to the door and used his elbow to knock out the shards and splinters of wood, then slid his arm through and unflipped the bar. Eames turned the knob and pushed it open before Sledge could extricate himself. "Jesus, Alex!" he exclaimed. She was down the hall and pushing open Bobby's bedroom door before Sledge was free.

Alex Eames pushed open the bedroom door and stopped dead. "Oh God, Bobby, no."

"Jesus Christ, Goren!"

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"The Internet, wonderful," Logan looked at the kid and continued, "I should cuff you right here, right now, you idiot bastard." Kyle looked like he had already shit himself. "This is what we are going to do. The three of us are going to your friend's place and Detective Falacci and I are going to confiscate all of his equipment. Then, we are going to come back here and I'm going charge both of you with theft of evidence. Understand?"

Falacci's mind raced, "Mike, uh, hang on. I think there might be another way." She stepped away from the counter and motioned to the kid to just hang on.

The pair retreated to the door, "Mike, this is getting out of hand. Let's think this through. We cannot confiscate anything, we don't have a search warrant, nor can we get one."

They stood thinking and then Logan offered, "Ok, ok, so we go to the kid's home and scare the shit out of him, get the DVD, watch while he removes the video from the site, shake him down until he gets us any copies he's made, and then we get the name of the porn producer. We go scare the shit out of _him_ and then we're done. Three hours, tops."

Falacci could see no other way, "Alright. Christ, Logan, this is a mess. Stupid Junior over there . . .," she had nothing more.

Logan suggested, "Let's take him with us to make sure he doesn't call his buddy and warn him we're on the way."

The pair nodded and then returned to the counter.

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Bobby sat with the barrel jabbed up into the soft place under his chin. He was going to do it – right now. "Get out," he scratched, sobbing.

"Bobby, don't do this," Eames couldn't draw a full breath. "Please, dear God, Bobby put it down."

The trio stared at each other, and then Eames started slowly toward the bed, just steps away.

"Get the fuck out of here and take him with you," Bobby barked hoarsely. The gun was getting heavy and his wrist began to hurt, twisted as it was, holding the gun in place.

"Goren, come on. Put it down," Sledge stepped around Eames and then in front of her. "You don't need to do this."

Alex sidestepped her lover and stood beside him at the foot of the bed. She intended to keep inching toward her right, along the bottom edge of the bed, and then draw Bobby's attention so Sledge could disarm him. She knew it wouldn't work.

His left knee was bent, flat on the bed and he hitched himself up into a better sitting position. "I said get out."

Sledge's mind raced, this son of a bitch is too smart to be outsmarted. How many times has Goren talked a perp out of this very act? He knows the psychology, he knows what to look for, listen for. But, then again, Sledge reasoned, this bastard is dead drunk.

"Goren, you do this and it will either confirm or destroy what people have thought about you."

Bobby knew what Edward was doing; well, that stupid-ass sweet talk wasn't going to work, no sirree, not on Detective Robert O. Goren of the Major Case Squad. Bobby desperately wanted to take a drink, but didn't dare. "Shut up and get out."

Eames took a tiny step to the right as Bobby spoke. She knew to let Edward do the talking.

The hitches slowed as the blinding pain in his head increased. He would have given anything to just shut his eyes and pull the trigger. This thing is so goddamn heavy, he thought, shifting again, trying to ease the constriction in his wrist.

Eames took another tiny step to the right and Bobby's gaze followed her. "Get back with your lover," Bobby slurred and Eames stood still.

Taking another step in the instant that Bobby glanced at Eames, Sledge said, "What is that, a Glock? A Glock 24 .380? Nice. I bet you have a 15 round cartridge, don't you?" Sledge took another step and decided to go the conversational route, "Good gun for a police officer to have at home. It'll drop an intruder with a hole you can put a fist through. One thing, though," one more step and Sledge stood beside Bobby's calves, "that is one heavy weapon. No, literally, it is a heavy piece of bang. What does that baby weigh? Doesn't matter, it's heavy." He took another step, now beside Bobby's knees. "Your hand must be getting sore, all twisted like that; it's starting to hurt, isn't it?" Another step and Sledge was at Bobby's thighs, nearly close enough to reach for the gun.

"Stop talking and take her out of here. Hear me? Take Alex and get out."

"Hon, do you want to go?" Sledge turned and looked at Alex and so did Bobby.

In a flash, Sledge leaned over and had his hand on the weapon, jerking it out of Bobby's grip, accidentally smacking Bobby squarely under the right jaw, knocking back his head. Sledge dropped the gun to the floor and kicked it behind him toward the door.

Instantly, Eames was across the bed, pulling her partner's left arm away from his body, leaning on his forearm with both hands. Sledge had the other arm pulled up straight over Bobby's body.

The sound of Bobby's keen was like nothing either of his friends had ever heard. He pulled up his legs and began to thrash.

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"Close up shop, you're going with us," Logan said to the techie.

"I, I can't leave, I'm working," he replied.

"Yeah, well, this is your last day in law enforcement. Close up."

Kyle looked at Falacci as though to his mother, "I'm sorry Kyle. You have made a big mistake. Come on, shut down your equipment and get your things."

The kid slumped and turned, shut down the two computers he was working on and got his coat.

"Do you have to handcuff me?" he asked coming around the counter.

"Not till we get your buddy's place. Come on," Logan put a hand on the kid's arm and he and Falacci shared a look.

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Ted had remained in the hallway, not wanting to get in the way; now, he stood at the door, not knowing what to do. "You want me to do anything? Call 9-1-1?"

"No! Don't call anyone," Sledge said over his shoulder. "Take that gun out of here, will you? And then make a pot of coffee, ok?"

Ted Oelwein left, happy to have something to do.

"Alex, you have your cuffs?" He looked at the tiny woman leaning on her partner's arm and saw her crying under the curtain of hair that hid her face. "It's over, Alex, it's over. He's ok. Hon, he's going to be ok." She couldn't look at either man.

Suddenly, Bobby's struggling escalated, his adrenaline spiking; he might have been drunk, but he was still big and strong. Eames held down his left arm, his dominate arm, but she was crying, relief depleting her. Bobby summoned all his strength and whipped up his arm, flinging her off and she flew backward, off the bed. Then, he rolled to the right with his left fist ready; his feet hit the floor and he swung at Sledge. But, he was drunk and the momentum carried him past the strike zone and onto the floor. Sledge never let go of his colleague's right arm and it twisted painfully up the middle of Bobby's back as Bobby rounded and fell into a heap between the chest and the bed. Then, he passed out.

"Hon, you ok?" Sledge asked, dropping Bobby's arm.

Eames clambered up from between the bed and the wall and said, "Yeah. Is he ok?"

Sledge glanced at her and smiled, "Yes, and I'm fine, too, thank you very much."

Eames scowled and rounded the foot of the bed. The pair stood looking at Bobby Goren lying in a heap, folded and twisted between the bed and the chest of drawers.

"Ted!" Sledge hollered, "Give me a hand here, will you?"

Sledge stepped over Bobby's body as Ted re-entered the bedroom, "Here, grab an arm if you can. I want to get him into the shower."

The pair pulled, pushed and finally manoeuvred the solid, limp man upright, an arm around each of his rescuers' shoulders. They dragged him into the hall and around the corner into the bathroom.

"Here, let's turn him around, set him on the edge and lean him back into the tub," Sledge told Ted. It was a tight fit, two big men manoeuvring a third big man; but they got Bobby into the tub.

Sledge turned on the cold water and adjusted the shower head so that it sprayed directly onto Bobby's face and upper body; sputtering and flailing, he tried to push away the water. "Let's let him steep for a bit; he'll haul himself out when he's had enough. Is that coffee about done?"

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The trio stood at Kyle Ambrose's friend's door. "When I knock, tell him it's you."

Logan knocked and the techie shouted, "Gary, it's Kyle, open up."

Logan and Falacci stepped apart, out of range of the peep-hole. The door opened with, "Hey Kyle, c'mon –," and Logan pushed the handcuffed techie into his friend and the two detectives barged in after him, slamming shut the door.

"What the fu –!"

"Shut up and listen," Logan said, displaying his badge. "I'm Detective Logan and this is Detective Falacci. We're from the Major Case Squad. Kyle, here, has admitted to stealing evidence in an ongoing investigation and tells us he gave it to you. You know what I'm talking about?"

Gary backed against the computer table and stuttered, "You, you mean the DVD? Kyle you stole evidence? He didn't tell me it was evidence, officer."

"Yeah, well, it is and now we need what he gave you. Get it."

"Sure, sure officer. Right here," he opened the DVD drive on his tower and handed it over. Logan took it and slid it into his inside breast pocket.

"Now give me the copy you made."

The kid looked stricken, "Man!" he groused and pulled a DVD from a stack, "WHHL" was written on it. "Here," and he handed it over.

Logan slipped it inside with the other, "Good, now, I want to watch you remove it from the website you loaded it onto."

"I didn't load it onto any site," the punk replied with a whiff of fake innocence.

Logan stepped around Kyle and got up in the kid's face, "You see these cuffs on your friend, here? What do you think that means?" Logan took a second and then said, "Falacci, throw me your cuffs."

"Ok, ok, jeeze, here, let me get to it." Gary sat and turned to the computer, played with the keyboard and then sat back, "Here, let me get this off."

Logan looked at the screen and there was Goren licking away at his wife's pussy. "Jesus Christ," he said and looked away, sick to his stomach. "Delete that, right now."

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"So, you guys going to need me again?" Ted asked Eames and the other fellow; Ted and Sledge had not been introduced.

Sledge looked at Eames and she said, "I don't think so, Ted. Oh, Ted Oelwein, this is Edward Sledge. Ted is the building super," she said to Sledge who extended his hand. "Edward is a former colleague of Bobby's and mine." Both men shook and nodded.

Ted took a step back and it was clear he wanted to say something, "Uh, is Bobby going to be ok? I mean, what happens next?" he asked softly.

The pair looked at each other and Edward responded, "I'm not sure. We'll see how he is when he sobers up. We'll, we'll stay with him for the time being."

They stood silently for a minute and then Ted asked, "Do you think Bobby's going to need to be hospitalised?"

Eames sighed, "I think we need to see how he is."

"Ok, then. I need to replace his door. Say, what have you found out about Mrs. Ziegler's murder?"

"Nothing, it's out of our jurisdiction. I'm going to give them a call this afternoon."

"Do you think the killer was after Bobby?"

Sledge wanted to know about this. Someone was after Bobby? Jesus, a lot has happened in the short time I've been away, he thought.

"We're not sure of anything yet."

"Where did you put his weapon?" Sledge asked.

"On the bookcase here," Ted replied and the pair stepped to the tall case. Ted had removed the clip, ejected the shell and reset the safety.

Sledge nodded and took the weapon, setting it on the floor behind Bobby's chair where it would be out of sight, but handy. He wanted Alex to take it with her when she left; he intended to stay with Bobby through the night.

Everyone turned toward the profanities issuing from the bathroom. "I guess our boy is coming around," Sledge said, heading that way.

"Thanks again, Ted," Eames told him.

"Yeah, I'm going to get started on replacing Bobby's door. Let me know if you need me."

Ted left and Eames started down the hall as Bobby's hollering increased.

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A few clicks and the screen went blank. "There, it's gone," Kyle's former friend said.

"How do I know it's gone?"

"It's gone, I wiped it. Honest."

"Get back to the site," Logan said, not trusting this punk.

The kid sighed and clicked a few keys. The screen lit up with 'Wet n' Hot, Hard n' Long,' surrounded by small images of people going at it in every way imaginable. Logan bent to look closer and saw a blank space where one of the little views might have been. "What's that blank space?" he asked.

"That used to be where that footage was. It's blank now because I wiped it. It's gone, I'm telling you."

"Show me where it was full size."

"I can't, it's gone. I swear, it is nowhere on the web."

Logan wanted to believe this putz, but a lifetime of betrayal had hardened him. "Mike, it's gone," Falacci said, still holding onto Kyle.

Logan sighed and then said, "Who did you give a copy to?"

"What do you mean?"

Turning to Kyle, Logan said, "Tell him what you told us."

Kyle looked at his pal and said, "I told them what you told me – that you were going to sell it to that buddy of yours who makes porn."

The two looked at each other. "I didn't have to give him a copy, I sent him one electronically."

Logan wiped his hand over his face and thought, this only getting worse. "Ok, so, now you have to get it back from him."

"Man, I don't think he's gonna want to give it back," Gary said with half a laugh.

"Well, that's just too bad for you!" Logan barked, "On your feet! Put your hands behind your back!" he shouted, reaching for Falacci's cuffs.

"Wait, wait, let me see what I can do! Hold on," Gary pleaded.

Logan took the cuffs and flipped one open. "Stand up, I said."

"Jeeze, let me try something, ok? I think I can hack into his files and remove it. I've only done this once. Let me try, ok?"

"This better work, ass hole."

Twenty minutes later, Gary sat back and said, "There, I got it and it's gone."

"How the fuck do I know you are telling the truth?" Logan asked darkly.

"Believe me, I do not want to go to jail. You, you're not going to arrest me, are you? I mean I cooperated and everything."

Logan stared at the kid and then glanced at his partner. Falacci nodded and Logan tossed back her cuffs. "If any of that footage ever shows up, I will be on your ass like white on rice. Do you understand me?"

"Yes! Yes, you bet, officer. It's gone-gone. Honest."

Logan stared at him another minute and then said, "Let's get out of here."

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	38. Chapter 38

Intentional End

Chapter 38

Saturday Afternoon

October 20

Bobby sat thrashing in the tub, trying to push away the water, hollering.

"Christ, Goren, shut up, will you?" Sledge yelled and shut off the water.

Bobby's head hung down, breathing heavily. "Gemme outta here," he mumbled.

Sledge stared at his former colleague and knew that if he didn't help Bobby, drunk as he was, the man would slip, fall and crack open his head. He sighed and said, "Give me your hand."

Bobby reached up without looking up and Sledge pulled him to his feet. Eames stood in the doorway, watching. Bobby slipped and grabbed onto Sledge, nearly pulling him into the tub as well. "Hon, give me a hand here, will you?"

It took some doing, but Bobby was finally out of the tub, leaning on the sink, his wet boxers hanging precariously low. Eames took a towel from the narrow closet just as Bobby slurred, "Gimme a towel." He straightened up and shucked down his shorts and Eames took in all his glory. A professional would have looked away at her partner's displayed manhood, but Eames was much less than a professional right now.

"Alex! Get out of here!" Sledge said, surprised at her open stare. Her eyes shot to her lover's, she reddened and then retreated to the hall.

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The trio returned to the forth floor of OPP, Kyle now without cuffs.

"You stay right here, understand? My partner and I are going to discuss how to deal with you," Logan told the frightened techie. Kyle nodded sombrely and turned to his equipment; he'd not said a word except at Gary's when directed by Logan.

The pair of detectives moved to the hallway and whispered. "We can't do anything to him, you know," Falacci told her partner.

"Hell, I know that!" he spat back. "We got what we needed; that part is over. Go tell Mr. Scared-Shitless that you talked me into letting him go." Logan chuckled and added, "He's gonna love you forever. I'll see you upstairs."

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Sledge returned to the kitchen to find Ted removing the apartment door and a woman talking with Eames. Ted turned and said, "Edward, this is my wife, Becky. Honey, this is Edward Sledge, another friend of Bobby's."

"Glad to meet you. Alex was telling me how you two saved Bobby's life." Becky teared up and her voice quivered, "He is such a good man and he's had such tragedy. Gleason was a god-send for him. How awful," Becky sniffed and wiped at her eyes.

"How is he," Alex asked.

"Asleep. He's going to be pissed and miserable when he wakes up. What's all this?" Sledge asked indicating the food covering the table.

"Oh, I thought you might need something to tide you over, so I whipped up a few things," Becky answered with a shy smile.

"My wife's response to any crisis is food," Ted offered over his shoulder.

"Well, I think this little event qualifies," Sledge stepped to the table and admired the bowl of cole slaw, another of shell salad, the cut-up cheese, boxes of crackers, plate of cookies and bag of buns.

"A pot of sloppy-joe is staying warm on the cooker," Alex mentioned with a smile, watching Sledge's mouth water.

"Ted, how about a lunch break and then I'll help you with that door?"

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Logan walked from the printer as Falacci returned from Tech Forensics. "So, does he swear his life to defend and protect you?" Logan asked with a smile.

Falacci just shook her head, "That poor kid, he cried; said he would never do such a stupid thing again. He went on and on how we saved him."

"Yeah, well, I'm glad that is over." The pair stood quietly for a minute, realising the severity of the events Kyle Ambrose had set in motion. "Let's, let's not ever speak of this again, ok?"

His partner nodded and extended her hand. The two shook, forever bound by yet another lie.

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She slipped the sundress strap from her shoulder and freed her right breast. Lily nuzzled, searching for the nipple, found it and began to suck hungrily; Gleason's eyes closed and her lips parted in a moment of elation and sexual stirring.

Bobby lay up on his right elbow on a soft blanket in the now familiar meadow, his son asleep beside him; he had never felt such peace. Gleason's eyes found his and they stared, conveying everything in the look. She is beautiful, he thought; Gleason had not yet lost all of the baby weight in the three months since giving birth to their daughter and she looked wonderful.

Christian stirred in his sleep, sighed deeply and opened his eyes. Bobby put a hand to the side of his son's head and the boy looked up at him and smiled. "I have to pee, Daddy."

"Well, come on, let's go pee," his father replied, helping his son stand.

"Where?"

"Where all good men go in the wild – behind a bush."

Gleason smiled and watched her husband take the boy's tiny hand and lead him to a thicket. There they stood, father and son, each holding his penis, peeing into the brush. Bobby looked over and saw his wife watching and smiled.

He could not remember ever being so happy; and he would not remember this dream.

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Mid Afternoon

"I went through all of his contacts and sorted them by the four categories he identified. He kept most of his contacts ungrouped, probably for just this kind of situation – to maintain some level of anonymity.

"Anyway, of one-hundred-eighty-four contacts, thirty-four were categorised into four groups: ATF, Marlborough, Kitelinger, and CSP. Aside from 'ATF,' I have no idea what the other three are."

"'CSP' is 'Case Sensitive Properties.' It designates evidence – properties – as highly sensitive; either dangerous or valuable, top secret kind of stuff. Evidence with that label must meet certain criteria. The names may be individuals who work with those kinds of items."

Falacci was impressed; her partner might appear to be a boor, but he was knowledgeable. "I see," she replied simply.

"Which group has the most?" Logan asked.

"'Kitelinger,' with nineteen names; eight in AFT; four in Marlborough, and three in CSP."

Logan nodded and looked up at her, "So, what are you thinking?"

"Well, I'm thinking 'Kitelinger' and 'Marlborough' may be the names of cases and the names are the parties involved; 'ATF' is obvious."

Logan wanted to mention that 'Kitelinger' and 'Marlborough' also may be the names of race horses or whores and Wycoff was sidelining as a bookie or pimp; instead he asked, "What did you notice about the names? Gender, ethnicity? What kind of information was included?"

Falacci hadn't yet done that kind of analysis, "I haven't gotten that far."

"Well, I'd suggest analysing each name for gender, perhaps ethnicity. I'd geographically map each name according to the area code in each phone number and zip code if addresses are included; and then, I'd look for commonalities among ISPs in e-mail addresses. Once all that data is collected, then we can triangulate those points and see what we come up with; maybe build a profile for each category." Logan looked at up his partner again and saw a woman stunned. "Watcha think?"

Falacci had worked with Mike Logan for a week and believed him to be an irresponsible, ignorant smart-mouth; one of those guys who initiates a complacent career and ends up driving a desk he can't get reach for the belly in his lap. Now, she reconsidered her appraisal of him. "Sounds like a plan."

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Ted Oelwein and Sledge spent nearly two hours replacing Bobby's apartment door. Ted and Becky returned to their apartment after cleaning up the kitchen and work area. Sledge asked Ted to take the Glock for safe keeping; no one wanted it in Bobby's apartment.

"We should check on him," Eames suggested.

Sledge nodded and they headed to the bedroom. Eames stood in front of Sledge and stared at her partner, the man she loved. Bobby lay on his back, one hand on his chest, the other beside his ear; he looked peaceful.

The man she loved – right, she thought. What kind of person am I to go straight back to loving Bobby after Edward left? And what about Peter? Peter has feelings for me, I know it; he's as much as said he loves me. But Edward, Edward loves me, I can tell. He's said so, shown me. Do I love him?

"Come on, he needs to sleep," Edward said softly, knowing exactly what Alex was thinking, feeling.

The headed down the hall to the sofa, assuming the same position as always – Sledge with his arm around her, she leaning against his wall-like chest. "You still love him, don't you?" he asked into the side of her head.

"Edward," she replied softly.

And then it all came out, "Alex, I love you. I thought I didn't after that last time, but I couldn't stop thinking of you. I love you and want you to love me. You did once and I wasn't ready. I didn't know how much I loved you until I went to DC and couldn't see you, talk to you. Hon, I love you." Edward wanted her to say she loved him, had never stopped loving him; that she wanted him and no one else. Please, he thought, tell me you love me.

Alex sat up, off of him, and put her feet on the floor, not knowing what to say. "Edward," she whispered.

Edward Sledge's heart began to break apart. He wanted to tell her that what she was feeling for Bobby was not love; that whatever it might be was compounded by her partner's anxiety, grief, frustration and near suicide this morning. He wanted to tell her she didn't really love Bobby and shouldn't try to love him as it was obvious to everyone that Bobby saw her as a partner, nothing more; but he said none of that.

He stood and cleared his throat, "Ok. Uh, why don't you go home and I'll stay with him," then he turned away. Alex looked up at him, hands in his pockets, back to her, and saw his left hand go to his eyes. She stood, crossed to him and set her hands on his back, leaning against his broad form.

"Edward, look at me."

He turned and she saw his red eyes. "Edward, I am so confused right now. I, I need to get my head on straight. I need to know that Bobby's going to be ok." She stared up at him and knew exactly what he wanted her to say. "I can't tell you that I love you because I don't know."

Alex turned away and he reached for her arm, "Ok, ok. Then let's go slowly. Hon, I'll wait for you. Know that, I will wait for you. Until you know what you want, I will love you and wait for you to figure it out. Ok?" Then he kissed her, not with passion, but with love and devotion.

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Deakins saw Logan and Falacci working steadily as he crossed the squad room, "Find anything?"

"Captain! Yeah, actually; Falacci here has made some headway with the contact list in Wycoff's PDA," Logan offered. Neither would ever say a word about their morning adventure.

Deakins looked toward his newest detective, "Yeah? What?"

Falacci explained what she found and theorised concerning the four categories. She also explained Logan's idea of triangulating the information points.

"Sounds good; don't stay too late," the captain replied softly and turned.

"Uh, Captain, one more thing," Logan said and Deakins stopped and turned. "Falacci, tell him about those initials."

"I found several sets of upper- and lower-case letter combinations." Falacci handed her boss the sheet of paper. "It's a code or abbreviation system of some kind, but I can make neither heads nor tails of it." She watched him study the information.

"Goren could crack this in minutes," Deakins said sadly, returning the paper. "Look, why don't you two head out for the day? I'll see you tomorrow." With that, Deakins turned and walked to his office with the posture and presence of an old man.

The pair watched him in silence, and then both returned to their work, neither making a move to leave.

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"Get out," Bobby said sourly, making the turn into the kitchen.

The couple broke and Sledge said, "Hey, how do you feel?"

"Like shit. Fuck you both. We got coffee?" Bobby sat down hard into his chair and set his elbows on the tabletop, resting his face against his palms.

Eames moved to pour him a cup, "Are you hungry? Becky brought over a bunch of food."

"Shut the fuck up," he mumbled behind his hands.

Eames and Sledge exchanged a look and he shook his head as if to say, ignore it. She set the cup in front of Bobby, the smell wafting to his nose and he shot to his feet, spun, leaned over the sink and heaved up nothing. Alex backed away, retreating to Sledge's side. Bobby heaved again and again, each time producing nothing.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned miserably and felt for the cupboard door, rooted for the aspirin and shook a handful into his palm. Sledge dashed to his side and grabbed Bobby's wrist. "Get the fuck off me!" Bobby cried and tried to twist away.

"No! You are only taking two, hear me? Two!" Sledge held on and pried open Bobby's fingers, scraping the pills from the other man's palm. "Give me those!"

"Goddamn fucker, let me have them!" Sledge twisted Bobby's arm around his back and pulled up. "Owwww, fuck!" he yelled, "Let go of me!" Bobby began to flail with his other arm and Sledge had Bobby on the floor with a knee in his back in two seconds flat.

"Do you want me to cuff you, ass-hole?" he shouted. "Now, knock it off and settle down!" Sledge held onto Bobby's arm until he felt him relax. "Good, now you are going to stand up and sit down, got it?"

Bobby didn't reply, so Sledge stood up off Bobby's back and pulled him up, shoving him into the chair. "Give me the rest of those goddamn pills!" Most of the aspirin flew in the melee and Bobby reluctantly surrendered the rest. "Thank you. Here, take these," Sledge said, offering two, "Alex, get him a glass of water."

She set the water in front of Bobby and the pair watched him slouch in the chair; neither had ever seen someone so miserable. Eventually, he tossed the pills into his mouth and drank the water straight down – big mistake. In a flash, Bobby was back over the sink, heaving up the water and pills. "Awww Christ," he nearly cried, hanging onto the sink.

"Come on, sit down," Sledge said softly, putting an arm around Bobby's shoulders. "Sit down and sip that coffee. It'll do you better than aspirin, come on."

Bobby sat and laid his head flat on the table, his arms over it. The other two sat and heard him sob. "Why did you stop me? I can't live anymore, I can't."

Alex's eyes filled and her hands went to her lips. Neither knew what to say, so they listened.

"She's gone, my kids are gone, my mother. I want to die. You should have let me die." Bobby sobbed aloud; after a bit, he settled and then sat up, using the edge of his undershirt to wipe his nose. "What did you do with my gun?" he asked Sledge, still hitching sobs.

"It's gone," he answered simply.

Bobby slumped and asked pathetically, "Where? Where is it?"

"Bobby, it's gone. Forget about it."

"Jesus Christ," he mumbled. He took the cup and sipped and Alex watched his eyes close.

"Good?" she asked and he nodded.

"My head hurts."

"I bet it does," said Sledge, standing and retrieving the aspirin bottle from the counter. "Here, take these one at a time with a sip of coffee," Sledge put the two pills on the table top and Bobby did as told.

"You should try to get some more sleep," Sledge added.

Bobby nodded, but made no move. The three sat at the table as Bobby finished his coffee. Then, he rose without a word and headed back to the bedroom.

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	39. Chapter 39

Intentional End

Chapter 39

Sunday Mid-morning

Bobby stood looking into his living room at Sledge snoring softly, stretched out on his sofa and Eames curled in his chair. Bastards, he thought.

The smell of fresh coffee woke Sledge. "Hey, how you doing?" he asked quietly, rubbing his face.

"I wish I was dead."

"Yeah, well, sorry about that." He glanced over at Alex then reached behind him for the crocheted throw over the sofa back and carried it to her sleeping form, covering her gently.

Bobby watched this act of love and hated Sledge and Eames even more. "You two can leave any time."

"I think we're going to hang out for a while, if you don't mind."

"Yes I do mind!" Bobby shouted. "Get the fuck out! You've done enough for me."

Eames started and then sat up, groaning, all kinks and pains. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Your partner here is one cranky boy."

"Fuck the both of you," Bobby growled, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee.

Eames looked at Sledge and then slipped away to the bathroom.

Sledge poured two cups of coffee and sat. "We need to talk about what's going to happen, Bobby."

"What's going to happen is you two are getting the hell out of here and leave me alone."

"I don't think so. Seriously, Goren, I think you should voluntarily admit yourself for observation." Sledge watched the man go from anger to fear and then back to anger.

Bobby shot to his feet, "Get the fuck out of here! Now! Eames, get in here!"

"Goren, sit down, we're not leaving. If you don't admit yourself, Alex will do it for you."

"I'll do what?" she asked returning to the kitchen. "What's wrong?" She didn't like the look in Bobby's eyes, or the way he was pacing.

Sledge sighed dramatically and said, "Well, your partner here doesn't think he should admit himself for observation _and_ he wants us to leave."

Eames sat slowly; she wasn't sure Bobby going in for observation was the wisest route. It would go on his record and cast a net of doubt over everything Bobby would ever do from this day forward, basically ending his career.

Both men looked at her and Bobby saw she wouldn't do what Sledge claimed. He sat and rubbed his forehead.

"I told him you would admit him if he didn't go voluntarily." Sledge saw her uncertainty and believed she would never do it. "Right, Hon?"

Eames didn't know what to say.

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"Robinson? Peterson."

"Yeah?"

"Tell me you picked up Wycoff's computer and organiser from the police." The silence told the boss everything. Fucking idiots! "For Christ's sake! Go and get it! Then bring it in. Jesus, those cops could have searched the whole goddamn thing. Why wasn't it picked up?"

Robinson had hated Wycoff in life and now the bastard was still making his life miserable. He did not want to tell his boss that he was fishing off a boat in the middle of Keuka Lake and was at least five hours from the city, but he had no choice. "I'm not at home."

"I don't care where the fuck you are! Go get his equipment and bring it in!"

"Boss, I'm six hours outside the city."

Peterson's left eye hadn't twitched in years, until now. He slammed three fingers onto it and then slammed shut his cell. He sat for a minute then grabbed his keys.

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Finally, Eames began, "Bobby, you need to talk with someone. You've got the time, Deakins said to take as much as you need. Let's call Dr. Stephens." She rethought that and said, "Wait, no, she'll have to report that she's seeing you."

Sledge turned to her, ignoring Bobby, and said, "Alex, the department needs to know about this. He's a danger to himself; he's a whack job on a good day."

"Hey! I can hear you! Jesus Christ!" Bobby took his coffee and went to his chair in the living room.

Sledge and Eames watched him disappear into himself; both realising how insensitive they just were. Sledge stood and took his cup to the sofa, "Look man, I'm sorry. What are you going to do?"

Alex followed and sat beside Edward. "Bobby, I, I don't pretend to know what you are going through. I just don't want you to hurt yourself – physically or professionally. But, you need help; you need someone to see you through this. Please, Bobby, let someone help you."

He could look at neither of them knowing that he needed to appease them so they would leave. His mind and heart were empty and he wanted to stay that way. He knew he wasn't going to do anything stupid; he also knew he was done drinking – for the time being.

"I'm fine. You saved me. I'll be good. Now get out." Bobby stood and was feeling antsy; he had to get to Evanston.

"You are not fine and you won't be good. Come on, Goren, get real, you had a gun to your head eighteen hours ago."

Bobby's headache had started to go away, but it began creeping back behind his eyes. "Look, I know what I almost did was stupid, I was at my lowest. But now, I slept well, I'm going to eat something and I-will-be-fine. Now leave, please," he looked at them imploringly and saw they were going nowhere.

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"I'm going to go blind reading this crap," Logan said, sitting back, wiping his eyes.

"Ok, take a break and look at this," his partner said, rising with a notebook. "Here, see this?" She laid the notebook in front of him, "I have a theory. Look at the names associated with 'CSP,' 'Robinson, Drumiester, Peterson." Falacci looked up at him expectantly.

He returned the look and then raised his eyebrows questioningly, "So…?"

"Three syllables, each name has three syllables, don't you see?"

Logan drew a deep breath and then said, "Falacci, I swear, you did teach middle school, didn't you? So what?"

"It's a pattern! It has to mean something," she could not understand why he could not see the significance of that.

"You know what, let's see if Goren is up to some company. He'll crack this in no time. It will do him good to have people around. We'll take Chinese. Let me call Eames to see what she thinks. We need to get out of here anyway." Mike Logan was excited, he wanted to make this information work for them and Bobby was magic with this kind of thing.

"Mike, I don't think he's going to –," Falacci began, but her partner already had his cell to his ear and had put up a hand.

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Peterson steamed as he drove to the lower west side, heading for One Police Plaza. He hadn't bothered to change, still in his khakis and golf shirt; another day shot to hell because of this stupid case.

He would claim jurisdiction over the evidence as it was CSP. Wycoff had known that and should have returned everything when he 'resigned.' Of course, Peterson realised that _he_ should have confiscated the property before he put in the removal order. Not one thing has gone right on this leg of the expedition. Not one thing.

He pulled into the lower deck, flashed his FBI credential to the attendant and the gate rose.

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"We won't stay, I just want him to look at these codes and then we'll leave. It won't take him ten minutes to figure it out." Logan listened to Goren's partner whisper as to why he and Falacci should not go to Bobby's apartment – under any circumstances.

"Eames, are you at his place?" he asked and then listened and his antennae quivered, "Why?" something is wrong, he figured.

"Alex, is he all right? Did something happen?" he couldn't keep the fear out of his voice. Logan knew it was serious when he heard Eames sniff. "Christ, what did he do? Is he ok?" he listened and waited, "Alex?"

"Logan, Sledge."

"Edward?! What happened? Why are you there and not in Washington? Man, what happened? Is Goren all right?"

"Look, do not come over here, things aren't good right now. Promise you'll stay away, ok?"

Logan tensed up, and then he knew – that son of a bitch tried to kill himself. Jesus. "Just tell me, is he ok?"

"Yeah; look, I need to hang up. Stay away and keep your mouth shut, ok?"

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, let me know if I can go anything, you hear?"

"Yeah," and Sledge hung up.

Falacci stood watching and listening to Logan's side of the conversation. "Did he hurt himself?" she asked softly.

Logan could not believe how perceptive this woman was. "Uh, it's not a good time to visit. Tell you what, let's call it a day."

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"Here, eat this," Eames said, setting down a plate, as Bobby returned from the bathroom. She kept her head low and couldn't help but sniff. Sledge stood in the living room looking at Goren's books.

Bobby felt the change in the room and looked from his partner to Sledge, "What?"

Sledge turned and said, "Eat something. Hon, I'll have a plate, too, if you're serving."

Still he stood and looked at the others, "What happened while I was in the bathroom?"

"Nothing, Christ, sit down and eat, will you?" Sledge barked.

Bobby sat and then asked, "Who called? Did Deakins call?"

Eames set down a plate for Sledge and then sat beside him, neither would look at Bobby.

He stared at the two and figured – so what, then he forked a load of shell salad to his mouth and chewed, suddenly ravenous. He would be good, be normal and then they would leave and he would be on a flight to Chicago. "This is good," he said around a bite of sloppy-joe. Sledge and he ate silently while Eames go herself a small plate of coleslaw.

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Peterson rounded from the elevator as Logan and Falacci closed up before closing on a short Sunday. He approached the pair with his identification already out and looked around at the nearly empty squad room, "You don't work on a Sunday around here?"

Logan stopped and peered at the man's ID, "Can I help you, uh, Agent, Peterson?"

"Yeah, where's your captain?"

"He's off this weekend."

"Call him. Get him in here."

A snort accompanied his scoff, "I don't think so."

Peterson ignored him with a sneer and turned to Falacci, "Ok, you, call your captain."

"Hello, I'm Detective Nola Falacci," she said sweetly, extending her hand whilst tilting her hip and leaning forward just enough.

Peterson took her in and replied with his hand out, "I'm Field Supervisor Peterson, FBI. I understand you have property that belongs to us – Agent Wycoff's belongings; specifically a briefcase and contents and an electronic organiser. I'm here to collect those items. Where are they?"

"'Field Supervisor,' 'FBI,' oh my," Falacci smiled and put on her most demure face, "I'm surprised such an important person as yourself came to retrieve that evidence."

"Look, I'm here to take possession, go get the briefcase and organiser." Peterson was not falling for this lady's sweet talk, although she did look fine. Logan watched his partner try to charm this hard-ass, and was impressed.

"Can I get you a cup of coffee, Field Supervisor Peterson?"

"Just the items, thank you."

"Well, here, have a seat," and she pulled over the chair from the next desk, "there, sure I can't get you something? A soda, we have bottled water?" and Falacci sat.

Peterson sat; she's good, he thought and shook his head.

"See, Field Supervisor Peterson, I don't think my partner and I have the authority to release those items. I am certain a mound of paperwork is involved," she looked at her partner and continued, "Logan, don't you think some kind of paperwork is involved?"

Logan smiled with a silent nod and kept closing up his desk.

"See, I was sure of it. I'm new here, tomorrow starts my second week, and I really don't know my way around yet," Falacci smiled shyly at the agent.

"How about your partner here?" Peterson turned to look at Logan, "You know about the paperwork?"

Logan stopped and leaned on the back of his desk chair, "I got to tell you, Falacci here is my third partner in three years, all women mind you, and each one of them took care of paperwork. Falacci here is right, there's got to be form after form and, as you can see, this place is light on a Sunday." Logan raised his eyebrows in an innocent, 'sorry-I-don't-know-nothing' attitude.

Peterson sighed, he was afraid of this. He figured it was foolish to try and retrieve Wycoff's effects on a Sunday, but he had a feeling he had to take possession before these yokels went snooping, if they hadn't already. "So, what are you saying? I need to come back here tomorrow to get those two items, is that it?"

"I am so sorry you made the trip," Falacci said with mock sincerity as she crossed her legs and leaned her elbow on her knee, showing off the soft places just below her neck. "Tell you what, why don't we get the transfer paperwork started tomorrow and my partner and I will save you a trip – we'll bring the stuff to you." She flashed a great smile and swiped her tongue over her lips, her eyes never leaving his.

Peterson knew exactly what this chick was up to. If this is the way they do things over here, then how smart can they be? His fear of these bumpkins sorting through Wycoff's files began to fade.

"Look, I want those two items by noon, understand? You know we're going to check to see if you have tampered with federal property."

"Tamper? Oh, my!" Falacci leaned back and looked at her partner with a slight chuckle, "I think we know better than that, Field Supervisor. Tamper? In deed!"

Peterson stood, as did Falacci, "Tomorrow, before noon." And he walked back to the elevators.

Logan and Falacci watched him go and then turned to each other. "Do we have to worry about this?" Falacci asked.

"What, him?"

"No, the fact that the FBI is taking possession of equipment that we have scoured."

Logan thought a minute and then said, "Probably."

They finished closing up and headed out.

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"Look," Bobby swallowed and wiped his mouth, "after we're done eating, how about you two take off? I'm, I'm going to be fine, ok?"

Sledge shook his head as he chewed and Eames set down her fork, "Bobby. . ."

Bobby set down his sandwich and said softly, "I, I want to go to Evanston, tonight. I want to check out her apartment; see what I can find out. I can do this alone; I don't need anyone's help to check it out."

Eames couldn't look at him. Sledge put down his fork, "Goren, this is not a good idea. You need to stay here and get help."

It took all he had to not slam his hands onto the tabletop and scream. He took a deep breath and said softy, evenly, normally, "I will get help when I get back. I swear. I'll call Dr. Stephens. It's, it's ok. I know I need help. But I need to investigate her murder. She was murdered, it wasn't an accident." The three looked at each other. "Please, understand, I need to do this."

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Sunday, late afternoon

Bobby paced as Sledge and Eames said goodbye, "Come on, say goodbye so we can go, ok?" The sight of them canoodling made him sick to his stomach.

"Call me when you get there," Eames said to Sledge who nodded, kissed her again and then stepped back.

"I need to stop at an ATM, ok?" he said to Bobby who stood with his hand on the doorknob, keys in hand.

"Yeah, sure, let's go."

With that, Bobby and Sledge headed out to Bobby's car and then to the airport. For the previous three hours, the trio had talked, argued, threatened and finally compromised that Sledge would accompany Bobby to Evanston. Neither Eames nor her lover wanted to leave Bobby alone for the immediate time being. Sledge showered and borrowed fresh clothes, and then called Quantico claiming a family emergency.

Eames stood alone in Bobby's apartment, fighting an overpowering temptation to snoop. She knew her way around his kitchen but it was Bobby's bedroom that intrigued her. She headed down the hall and stopped at the bedroom door.

Don't, she told herself, this isn't right; he trusts you, you would be furious if someone went through your things. Yeah but, when will I ever get the chance to know him like this? Back and forth Eames argued with herself; finally, she stepped inside.

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"You can get cash at the airport," Bobby told Sledge as they headed for JFK.

"Yeah, but the service fee is higher at the airport. Come on, man, there's one two blocks from here. You pull up and I won't be two minutes."

"What, you're too cheap to pay a dollar more at the airport? No, we're going straight to JFK; I want to get the next flight."

Sledge shook his head and sulked. The pair talked as if nothing had happened – just two guys driving along.

Two hours later, they were in the air on the way to Evanston.

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	40. Chapter 40

Intentional End

Chapter 40

Sunday Evening

Bobby hadn't said a word until he and Sledge stood at the car rental desk, "I, uh, I want to go to her apartment tonight."

"Sure, that's why we're here," Sledge replied, removing his cell and stepping away. "Hi, Hon, we're here."

"How is he?"

Sledge paused and fought a flare of anger, "He's fine, Alex, he's fine. I'm tired, how are you?" he answered with attitude he couldn't hide.

Eames heard his ire and regretted asking about Bobby first. "Edward, I'm sorry, I'm just worried about him."

"Yeah, I know, you're worried, me too," boy, her question flipped a nasty switch in him. "Listen, he wants to go to the apartment tonight. How about if I call you later and we can talk?"

"That would be nice. Edward, look after him, please; he's not well."

They listened to each other breathe and then Sledge said softly, the edge gone, "I will. Hon, I'll call you later." He heard her breathe and whispered, "I love you, Alex, I love you."

A time zone away, Eames rubbed her forehead, hesitated, and then said, "Call me later."

"Yeah," and they both clicked off.

Forty-five minutes later, Bobby parked in the spot beside Gleason's car and didn't move. Sledge waited, imagining how hard this was going to be for his friend. Finally, Bobby sighed and then said softly, sadly, "The, uh, the super put a lock box on the door. I have to get the key from her."

Both men exited the car and Sledge followed Bobby into the main house.

"Mr. Goren! Come in, come in," Gladys exclaimed.

Bobby stepped back from the energy, looked at the floor with two hands up, palms out in front of his chest, and took a breath, remaining in the foyer. To Gladys, he said, "Uh, Gladys O'Fallon, this is Edward Sledge, a colleague of mine," and to Sledge, he said, "Gladys is the super."

The pair nodded to each other and Bobby continued, "I, I want to get into her apartment. I need the lock box key."

"Yeah, sure, of course, right here." She stepped back into the small apartment and crossed to a flat box on the wall, removing a key. "Here you are. You want me to go with you? Unlock the door?" she asked, handing over the key.

"No, no thanks. Uh, I'm going to keep this until we're done; we'll be here a few days."

Gladys nodded and Sledge shot him a look – _a few days_, he wondered with surprise; terrific, he thought.

Bobby and Sledge walked to Gleason's apartment and stood at the door. Sledge saw Bobby's hand begin to shake, and noticed his breathing increase. "Here, man, let me unlock it," he offered, and took the key Bobby willingly gave up. Sledge bent, unlocked the box and Bobby used his copy of the apartment key to unlock the door, but he didn't open it.

Sledge waited, knowing this was going to be bad; he was about to say something when Bobby suddenly turned the knob, pushed it open and stepped inside. Immediately, he snapped on the lamp next to the door and continued into the apartment, removing a pair of latex gloves and an evidence bag from his jacket pocket. He shrugged off his jacket, tossed it on the upholstered chair and walked to the centre of the room, looking up at the CO detector and smoke alarm. Sledge followed him in and stood by the door with his hands in his pockets.

Bobby began to pull on the gloves and turned to pull over a kitchen chair when Sledge said, "Wait, Goren, wait; it's dark, you can't see well enough in here to do anything. Let's wait until morning, call the local PD and do this right."

"I want to do this."

"I know you do, and I want to help you. But this is a crime scene; if you remove that cover, take the battery, maybe smudge the prints, you'll compromise the integrity of any evidence you gather. You know I'm right. Let's wait until morning."

Bobby stopped and considered what Sledge was saying as his colleague continued, "Look, Bobby, you do this now and it will look like the actions of a grief-stricken husband. The feds will question your mental state; claim that you fabricated evidence to build a case against them. Too much is at stake here to do this rashly, you'd be playing right into their hands. Let's be smart about this. Don't screw this up."

Those last words brought Bobby's head up. 'Don't screw this up,' he remembered telling himself that very thing – how many times? – that first night, when he and Gleason had gone for coffee; he'd been so worried that he would do something, say something, to put her off.

Bobby knew Sledge was right; he'd thought about it on the way from O'Hare. He needed to do this right if he was going up against the federal government. He needed to corroborate his actions; Sledge might not be enough, he needed an assist from the Evanston PD. But Emerson told Deakins that he wouldn't help, couldn't help; why even bother asking? "Emerson told Deakins that the local PD couldn't help; won't help. What can I do?"

Sledge thought a moment and then said, "Well, what if the FBI convinced them otherwise?"

Bobby stared at his friend and then pointed out, "You don't have a shield yet."

"True, but I have an ID; nothing that says, 'Special Agent,' but it's got 'FBI' on it with my mug. Let's see if they buy it."

Suddenly, Bobby was exhausted; he stood another minute and then slowly began to remove the latex gloves. Sledge emotionally slumped with relief and said, "Good, you're making the right decision here. Let's go get a hotel room, maybe some dinner and then we'll start fresh in the morning."

"I'm going to stay here tonight. The Hilton is not too far. You take the car."

Oh, man, thought Sledge, "Bobby, you cannot stay here," he said softly, "this is a crime scene. Come on, we need to get a hotel room."

More than anything, Bobby wanted to stay in the apartment tonight. He wanted to sleep on the sheets she last lay upon. He wanted to breathe in her scent, breathe the air she breathed, the air that killed her. He wanted to be where her soul left her body and wanted his soul to follow hers. He wanted to die in the bed where she died. He stood staring at the floor, knowing he could do none of that; not until he had built and proven a case against the people who had killed his wife.

"Come on, man, let's go, it's getting late," Sledge said softly. Bobby slowly looked up, nodded and shoved the latex into his jeans pocket, moving for his coat.

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Evanston PD

Monday Morning

"Captain Emerson is in a meeting," the front desk officer told the pair.

Bobby stepped back in frustration, a hand to his mouth. Sledge knew he had to keep a leash on Goren's emotions if they were to convince the Evanston PD captain to assist in the investigation. "Look, Bobby," Sledge said, guiding Bobby away from the desk, "let's go get some breakfast and check back later. I'll leave a message letting Emerson know we want to speak with him."

Bobby was eager to get going on this. He paced in a box, his hand running over his head and down his neck. "Ok, ok," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sledge nodded and stepped back to the desk.

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Monday Morning

MCP

Logan saw Eames crossing the squad room, arriving for the day, and caught up with her, "How's Goren?"

She didn't reply right away, continuing to her desk and he followed her. She hung up her jacket and sat, then turned toward Logan. "He's ok."

"That's it? 'He's ok'?" Logan reached behind him, pulled over a chair and sat, leaning in toward her, "Alex, tell me the truth, did Goren try to off himself?" he whispered.

She looked at her colleague and considered telling him all that had transpired the previous day. "He's ok, Mike, he's ok. Bobby just needs time to work out some things; but, he's, he's ok." She couldn't look him in the eye.

Logan stared at her and knew that Eames would never betray her partner. He also knew that his suspicions were correct; from Eames' demeanour, he could tell that Bobby had come close to killing himself. "Ok, then; I'm glad he's ok, going to be ok." He sat up and then stood, pushing the chair back to its place, "Listen, Falacci and I worked this weekend and got some interesting things from Wycoff's electronics. Why don't the three of us meet in the task room and go over what we found?"

"Yeah, sure," Eames glanced at the clock, "In ten?"

Logan nodded, the pair looked at each other and then he walked away.

"Alex, my office, please," Deakins called from the office door.

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Preston's Restaurant

Evanston, IL

Thirty minutes later, Bobby and Sledge entered a family style restaurant known for its breakfasts. After ordering, Sledge said, "You know, you have to be cool about this. You cannot go off on this Emerson guy. You need to be even keel, no histrionics."

Bobby slumped back in the booth and set his left hand on the tabletop, his thumb tapping the paper placemat. "I know, I know," was all he could muster. He'd barely said a word since they had gotten two rooms at the Hilton the previous evening.

Loomis, the hotel doorman, surprised to see Bobby so soon, was gently kind, asking after Bobby's well being and not pushing for more. Bobby had nodded without a reply. Sledge had asked if he wanted to get some dinner and Bobby shook his head, saying he'd meet Sledge in the lobby at nine the next morning.

Sledge told him to try and get some sleep then called Alex. "Hi, Hon, we're at the hotel."

"I bet you're tired, aren't you?" she offered, being certain to make her first comment about Edward.

"Yeah, I am. How are you doing?"

"I'm ok. It's really quiet after all the excitement."

"Are you home?"

"Yes, after you two left, I cleaned up his place and then left about half an hour later." Eames felt mildly guilty about her near snoop of Bobby's bedroom. She had stood at the bedroom door for a long time, staring at the bed, imagining all that must have taken place there. The glance of Bobby's manhood when Sledge had pulled him from the tub and he had shed his boxers rushed back and she felt herself flutter down there. Dear God, his flaccid length hung thick and heavy, horse-like, she had thought.

The couple spoke for an hour, about Bobby, the plan to speak with Emerson in the morning and finally, about each other and their feelings; they said goodnight with a promise of more talk.

Sledge and Bobby sat quietly in the booth and then Bobby said softly, continuing to watch his thumb tap, "I, uh, I want to thank you, you and Alex, for, for, stopping me." He glanced up in that sidelong way of his and then looked back at his thumb. "I was, I was out of my mind."

"I know, I know."

The server brought their meals and Bobby ate with gusto.

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MCS

Eames caught the sad tone in the boss's voice and shut the door behind her.

"Have a seat," Deakins told her, sitting behind his desk. "How's your partner?"

Eames looked away and told Deakins what she told Logan, "He's ok."

Deakins stared at her, knowing that his best detective was not 'ok.' The silence brought her eyes back to his, "What happened?" he asked.

She shifted in her seat, not knowing how the captain could possibly know anything had happened. "What do you mean?"

He stood, came around the desk and leaned against the front. "What did he do?"

She squirmed again and said, "I don't know what you mean."

Alex Eames was a top-notch interrogator, but not so good when she was on the receiving end. Deakins moved to the chair and sat beside her, "His service weapon is still locked up here. Does he have one at home?"

She closed her eyes and lowered her head, hiding behind the curtain of hair, "Captain," she whispered.

Softly and sadly, Deakins asked, "How close did he get?"

Her head snapped up and Eames answered, "How did you know?"

Deakins took a few heartbeats, looked away and sighed deeply, "I know my people. It wouldn't have surprised me if he had done it." He looked back at her, "Did you stop him?"

She swallowed and nodded, "Edward was there, too." She did not want to say any more.

The Captain nodded and then said sadly, "He's lucky to have you. I made a good choice pairing you two years ago; I'm glad you stuck with him, Alex."

She nodded and he saw her eyes fill, "Me, too," she whispered.

"I don't want to know anything else; the less I know, the better. As far as anyone knows, we stopped talking after you told me he was ok." They looked at each other, each understanding what was happening, "Right?"

She nodded and straightened up, "Uh, Logan and Falacci want to fill me in on what they found this weekend, do you want to join us?"

"Yeah, I'll be right there," another studied look and they rose.

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	41. Chapter 41

Intentional End

Chapter 41

Evanston, IL

Monday, Midmorning

Sledge paid for breakfast and they headed back to 1454 Elmwood Avenue, parking in the lot behind the Evanston police station. "You're going to stay cool, right?"

"Yeah, yeah."

The pair entered the vestibule and crossed to the desk sergeant, "We're back to see Captain Emerson. Goren and Sledge, we were here earlier."

"Sure, let me see if he's available," the officer said and lifted the phone. Sledge glanced at Goren and was about to say something when the officer hung up and said, "You can go on up, second floor, end of the hall."

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MCS

Monday, Midmorning

The three detectives assembled in the task room and were about to begin when Deakins entered and pulled shut the door behind him.

"Captain, glad you're here. We're going to bring Eames up to date on what we found," Logan said.

Deakins nodded and pulled out a chair next to Eames.

Logan and Falacci shared everything they learned from pillaging Wycoff's equipment; everything but the ordeal with Kyle Ambrose and his porn-buddy, that is. They proposed several theories as to what the information meant as well.

"Falacci thinks 'Marlborough' and 'Kitelinger' are case file names," Logan offered.

"What do you think," Deakins asked.

Logan wanted to tell his theory of them being racehorses or working girls and that Wycoff was a bookie or pimp, but he didn't. Logan sensed that the Captain wasn't in the mood for levity. "I think they are case files," he agreed.

"So, what's of use to us? What else did you find?" Deakins seemed to be getting impatient.

"Well," Falacci began, "There are three names associated with a folder called, 'CSP.'"

"Hey," interrupted Logan, "what were the names? That one, wasn't that one the name of that FBI field supervisor who showed up here yesterday?"

"What field supervisor?" Deakins asked.

As Falacci pulled a sheet from the stack in front of her, Logan responded, "Some FBI guy was in yesterday looking to take possession of Wycoff's briefcase, computer and PDA." He looked at his partner, "What was his name?" and he snapped his fingers, trying to recall.

"Peterson," Falacci replied, "Yeah, here he is, 'Peterson, David L."

"What did he want?" Deakins asked.

"He was all bossy and smart about taking possession of Wycoff's equipment."

"What did you tell him?"

"I said that we'd get the transfer paperwork started and notify his office when the stuff was ready to be released."

Deakins rubbed his hand over his forehead and said with sad resignation, "Mike, that stuff is evidence in an open investigation. Did you remind him that the FBI gave up jurisdiction and we took possession? That evidence is going nowhere; call him and let him know."

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Evanston PD

Monday, Midmorning

"We're here to see Captain Emerson; I'm Edward Sledge and this is Detective Robert Goren of the NYPD," Sledge said to the receptionist. The young officer lifted the phone when Bobby saw the Captain walking toward them.

"Detective," Jack Emerson said with his hand out.

"Captain Emerson, thank you for seeing us. This Edward Sledge, a former colleague; Edward, this is Captain Jack Emerson. He, ah, he helped me when, when," Bobby looked to the floor and took a step back, Jack and Edward shook hands and nodded.

An awkward few heartbeats of silence followed, Jack obviously uneasy that Goren and his pal had shown up. "Uh, what can I do for you?"

Sledge spoke up first, "May we talk in your office?"

Emerson's hesitation spoke volumes, "Well," then he glanced at his watch.

"We won't take much of your time." Edward straightened and glared at the other man.

Bobby stood silently, watching the Captain squirm, and his shoulders slumped. He turned toward his friend and was about to speak when Jack Emerson said, "Of course, of course, I'm sorry. This way, please."

The pair followed Emerson to an office and the Captain gestured for them to sit, taking his seat behind his desk, "Now, what can I do for you?"

Still taking the lead, Sledge began, "Gleason Wintermantle was murdered a week ago in your jurisdiction and so far, the Evanston police have done nothing to investigate it. Her apartment is a crime scene and a CSU has yet to be dispatched. When do you think this will happen? Her murder is going cold without a single thing being done."

Jack Emerson's mind processed with lightning speed, he thought this was done and over with. "The medical examiner ruled that death accidental. No crime occurred."

Sledge was wondering how sharp this guy was – he was sharp. "Circumstances raise cause to believe it was something other than accidental. Why haven't you initiated an investigation?

Emerson couldn't believe what he was hearing – he had done what he could for Jimmy Deakins' detective and had heeded the FBI's warning. Who the hell does this guy think he is, he thought, his ire raising. Emerson glanced at Goren and saw a man defeated, exhausted and out of his mind with grief; he asked Sledge, "Forgive me, you're a colleague of Detective Goren's?" he asked, glancing to the grieving widower and then back to Sledge.

Sledge reached inside his coat and withdrew his identification wallet, flashed it and returned it as he explained, "Detective Goren and I were colleagues at the Major Case Squad in New York. I'm with the FBI now," and he sat back to let this sink in.

Confusion reigned in Emerson's mind. This guy is _FBI_, he wondered; but they told me that they were taking. . . "I see," he said softly. "I'm a little confused here, I was told that the FBI was taking jurisdiction of that case and the Evanston PD was to stand down."

Bobby sat up and was about to say something, but again, Sledge took the lead, "That decision has been reversed."

"When? When was it reversed? I know nothing of this."

Sledge feigned controlled frustration, "Apparently, there's been a communication breakdown. I was under the impression that you had received that information and that a complete investigation was underway."

Emerson looked from one man to the other. "Excuse me; let me go check on this," and he left.

As soon as the door shut, Sledge turned to Bobby and said quietly, "Thanks for staying quiet, let me handle this, ok? I think he's going to buy this."

Bobby set his left elbow on the chair's arm, leaned that way and laid the fingers of his left hand over his lips, nodding silently.

Emerson returned with an assistant and asked, "When would this notification have been sent?"

Without missing a beat, Sledge replied, "The decision was made several days ago; I don't know the particulars, Wednesday, maybe."

The assistant spoke up, "How was it delivered? E-mail, phone call, fax, post?"

"I'm not sure. What does it even matter? A communication break down has stalled this investigation and now you need to put together a team and get started."

Emerson thanked the assistant and returned to his desk, "Why is the FBI interested in this if they returned jurisdiction? Why are you here? What happened to Agent Davis?"

Sledge deserved an award for his performance, he stood and looked at Emerson with mild disappointment and said to Bobby, "Come on, I need to head to Washington with this. This is outrageous."

Bobby looked up at this friend questioningly and then stood. Sledge turned back to the Captain, and said, "Captain Emerson, I'm going to have to recommend that an investigation of your department be done. Apparently, you and your people have an abject disregard for cooperating with the federal government and a lackadaisical attitude toward investigating crime." He turned to Bobby, put a hand on the man's arm and took a step with, "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Wait! Just wait. Please, sit down, Agent Sledge, Detective." Emerson was nineteen months from retirement and did not want anything to interfere with that. "Let's, let's figure this out. Please."

Sledge stopped and seemed to be considering, all the while enjoying this little improv. He looked at Bobby and said, "What do you want to do? Want me to get your wife's murder returned to the FBI and find out who the bastards are that killed her? You know, however, that's going to take time. Plus, I will have to initiate the investigation into this outfit." Bobby looked pathetically confused. "Or, do you want the local PD to investigate? I bet they could get a CSU team over there is afternoon." Sledge turned to Emerson with eyebrows raised in question.

"Absolutely! I can get detectives on this in an hour. And we can do this while you two are here, perhaps you can assist." Emerson was wetting himself trying to make this FBI fellow happy.

Bobby knew what his friend was doing and nodded, saying sadly, truthfully, "Yeah, let's get it done. I want to know what happened to her; find out who did this."

Sledge nodded and Emerson stood up, "Wonderful; let me get this organised. Wait right here; please, sit down, can I get you two anything?"

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Washington, DC

Monday Afternoon

"Robinson? Where are you?"

Special Agent Robinson sighed and then answered, "I'm in the city, heading north from Tribecca." What is now, he wondered.

"Look, turn around and head to One Police Plaza. Get Wycoff's equipment from those idiots in Major Case. I'll fax the paper work before you get there. I am sick and tired of this case – it just will not end."

Robinson didn't answer right away; he was sick and tired of taking orders from Peterson.

"Did you hear me, Robinson?"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you. What do you want me to do with it after I pick it up?"

"Bring it back to DC. I want to see what they did to it. Knowing Wycoff, he didn't wipe anything when the case ended." The men listened to silence and then Peterson continued, "Fly back to DC tonight."

"Yeah, sure." The pair clicked off. Son of a bitch, Robinson thought and continued north, he wanted to stop for lunch first.

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MCS

Monday Afternoon

Eames sat with Logan and Falacci at Palmetto's Deli, a favourite hangout for cops and lawyers. Logan watched with fascination as Falacci chowed down on a huge combo sub and a mountain of fries. Eames picked at a small salad and Logan's rueben was disappointing with bread too wet and beef too dry.

"This afternoon, how about you start running down those names from the PDA," Falacci said to her partner after a swallow, wipe and sip.

He nodded in reply and looked to Eames; she was being too quiet. "What do you want to do?" he asked her.

"I don't know. Have you gotten everything off the devises in case the FBI comes for it?"

Falacci nodded with a full mouth and held up one finger. Logan spoke up for her, "Yeah, everything has been copied onto disk and hard copy."

"Was anything else on Wycoff's computer?" Eames asked and caught the immediate glance between the other two. "What?"

Neither said anything, nor did they look at her. "What else was on there?" she waited and then sat up, hands on the tabletop, "What else was on the computer? Tell me."

Falacci looked at Logan with 'you take this one' and took another huge bite. "Nothing, Alex, nothing else was on it," Logan answered softly.

Alex did not believe this for a second. The three sat quietly and then it dawned on her, "Oh my god, it was Bobby, wasn't it? Surveillance video. He said that his apartment had been bugged."

The other two looked down and Eames's mind scurried on, figuring it out. She pushed away her untouched salad and leaned forward. "Don't tell me footage of Bobby and Gleason in bed was on that computer," she asked softly.

Falacci set down what was left of her sandwich and wiped her mouth, suddenly no longer hungry. Logan wiped his hands over his face and then leaned in, "Look, Alex, it's gone – every trace."

"Oh God!" Eames exclaimed. She looked away and reddened, thinking of what might have been seen. "Are you sure you got all of it? Did Wycoff put it on disk? Did he send it to anyone? Jesus! It could be anywhere! Did you –," she was working herself up.

"Alex, it's gone; it's gone," Logan put a hand on the tiny detective's wrist and squeezed comfortingly. "Just let it go, it's gone."

She stared at her colleague and wanted to believe him. Eames looked at Falacci, woman to woman, and saw a friend. Eames knew they were not telling her everything and understood that they were protecting her and Bobby from something terrible.

The three sat quietly for another minute and then Falacci said, "We should get back." As one, they scooted back their chairs and stood. Logan and Falacci chattered on the short walk back to OPP. Once in the elevator, Eames stood quietly, lost in her thoughts from yesterday afternoon.

After Bobby and Sledge left for Evanston the day before, she stood at Bobby's bedroom door, wanting more than anything to look around. She fought herself for several minutes, and then walked back to the living room. With keys in hand had and jacket on, Eames stood still; she would never have another opportunity. It was then she decided that her 'near snoop' would become a real snoop. Ever the professional, Eames actually pulled on gloves before looking in the drawers of the nightstand beside the bed.

She sat on the edge of her partner's bed and looked inside a very private place. She found things that told her things about him, about him and his wife. Things she imagined them using, seeing them use in her mind's eye; and she envied the dead woman – viciously.

The bottom drawer held other items: small canister of pepper spray, holster for the Glock, box of shells, fully loaded second clip, gun cleaning kit; and four old, very dirty (and well used) magazines along with three xxx-rated DVDs.

Carefully, she pulled open each of the six drawers in the dresser at the foot of the bed – Bobby's clothes: a drawer of boxers (and a short stack of briefs) and undershirts, a drawer of jeans, and one each of socks, tee-shirts, and sweats. Atop the dresser lay his shield and NYPD ID, a crockery jar holding quarters; an old, flat, man's jewellery box containing Bobby's tie clip, two pair of cuff links, an old watch and other bits; a memorial card from his mother's funeral; and a folded receipt from McFarland's Funeral Home.

Eames opened the top drawer of the chest to the left of the door, glanced in and then pushed it shut, leaving the others untouched – Gleason's things. Eames moved to the closet; beside a laundry basket holding dirty clothes sat a large cardboard box. She opened the box and realised it contained things from the Evanston apartment; she shut the box and then the closet door.

The bathroom was next. Among the usual, the medicine cabinet held five pill bottles – two for Gleason, heart and birth control – and three for Bobby. Eames was surprised to learn that her partner was being treated for high blood pressure and acid-reflux; and, he was on an anti-depressant – a strong one. Gleason used sanitary pads, not tampons. A short basket of car magazines sat atop the toilet tank.

Eames hated herself. She pulled off the latex and stuffed them into her jacket pockets and left.

"Eames?"

She startled, "What? I'm sorry, I wasn't listening."

"Do you want to help going through Wycoff's contacts?"

"Sure, sure."

The pair of detectives looked at their colleague, nodded and then moved to get the list.

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End file.
